


The Magical Deduction

by Jaywalker_Holmes



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Merlin (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-29
Updated: 2018-08-29
Packaged: 2019-07-04 03:23:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 21
Words: 49,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15832767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jaywalker_Holmes/pseuds/Jaywalker_Holmes
Summary: SH/HP crossover. What if Sherlock Holmes came across Harry Potter after the Dursleys had left him for dead? Starts at the beginning of Prisoner of Azkaban (for Harry) and after His Last Vow (for Sherlock) - I know, I know, the timelines don't match up. Sherlock takes on a paternal role for our young wizard. Rated T for violence.This is AU after POA/HLV. There aren't too many characters/references from Merlin, though I've tagged it - I just thought Merlin would have been perfect for "The Other One". This was written prior to Sherlock Season 4, so things will not match up, though I will probably use characters and certain events.This is an old (but ongoing) work. Re-posting (up to Chapter 21) from fanfiction.net; I hear AO3 is easier to use - and future updates will be simultaneous for both sites. It is based on a prompt provided by the excellent WRose.





	1. The Boy Who Lived (But Almost Didn’t)

_“But Aunt Marge suddenly stopped speaking. For a moment, it looked as though words had failed her. She seemed to be swelling with inexpressible anger — but the swelling didn’t stop. Her great red face started to expand, her tiny eyes bulged, and her mouth stretched too tightly for speech — next second, several buttons had just burst from her tweed jacket and pinged off the walls — she was inflating like a monstrous balloon, her stomach bursting free of her tweed waistband, each of her fingers blowing up like a salami…”_

**_\- Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban_ **

Pandemonium ensued. Aunt Marge floated out of 4, Privet Drive, shrieking at a decibel level well outside of permissible limits. Uncle Vernon yelled at Harry to put his sister right. Harry dragged his school trunk, determined to leave the Dursley household forever. Ripper barked as if possessed. Aunt Petunia banged about in the kitchen, looking for a suitable pan to hit her nephew with. Dudley, with unusual alacrity, fetched his Smeltings stick.

Harry nearly managed to escape. Unfortunately for him, however, Aunt Petunia’s well-aimed pan caught the back of his head rather neatly. Dudley pounced on him, wielding his stick. Uncle Vernon, rabid from the loss of his sister, marched back in to find his son whacking his barely-conscious nephew. With a cry reminiscent of an angry bull, Vernon Dursley joined the Harry-punching event until the boy lay still in a pool of his own blood.

“Vernon! Dudley! Stop before you kill him!” Petunia cried.

Father and son paused. Dudley poked Harry’s prone form with his stick. No response.

“Is he dead?” Petunia asked.

Vernon felt for a pulse at Harry’s neck and felt nothing. He nodded at his wife.

For an instant, Petunia’s eyes were sad. She blinked rapidly, however, and glared at her husband. “You need to get rid of the body before _those people_ turn up,” she said urgently. “Dudley, wash up and go to bed.”

Dudley fled.

Vernon and Petunia wrapped their nephew’s cold body in a blanket.

“What about his things?” Vernon asked.

“The owl is gone, but I’ll get the rest,” Petunia replied. “You put him in the car.”

A few minutes later, Vernon Dursley was on his way to London to dispose of his nephew and his belongings.

XXX

Bill Wiggins was moving up in life since his association with Shezza – sorry, Sherlock Holmes. While still technically homeless, he made an attempt to keep himself groomed, and was almost off drugs. After all, he was the Great Detective’s protégé, even if the said detective disputed that fact, and he was the one the Homeless Network reported to in Sherlock’s absence or when in doubt.

So, it was Billy who received the news of a child’s body being dumped near the Battersea Power Station from two little urchins who scouted the area – just a few days after Sherlock was released from his four-minute exile (not that Bill knew _that_ ). Since Sherlock despised incomplete reports, Bill sent a quick text to Sherlock and left immediately to meet Ben and Betty at the crime scene to check the facts for himself.

The perpetrator was long gone, of course. Betty had been woken up in the night by a loud noise. She had crept to the corner of the street and watched silently as a large man (size o’ a whale, ‘e was!) threw out something wrapped in a blanket and a trunk from his car next to the garbage cans and drove off. She had not been able to observe the license plate in the dark. Hoping for something salvageable, she had fetched Ben and the two of them had unwrapped the blanket to find a boy about their age. The boy was dressed in old, blood-soaked clothes too big for him. They thought he was dead, but when Ben had touched the trunk, he’d received an electric shock and the boy had opened his eyes (glowin’ green, ‘t were, Wigs!). Ben and Betty had promptly called Wiggins.

Billy hated domestic child abuse cases, as this one clearly was. The solid trunk with gold lettering of “H. J. Potter” spoke of a well-off, if not rich, family. But the boy’s clothes and injuries told another story.

“’E’s still breathin’,” Ben whispered, as if talking out loud would hurt the poor child.

“Has he said anything?” Billy asked, checking the boy gingerly for signs of life.

Betty shook her head. “’E passed out right after.”

“We need to get him to a hospital,” Billy murmured. “He’s barely alive.”

“I believe we can help with that,” a deep baritone resonated behind him.

“That’s ‘im!” Ben cried, excited to meet the Great Detective in person, coat _et al._

Fortunately for Harry Potter, Sherlock Holmes detested child abusers as much as Billy Wiggins, and had left Baker Street as soon as he received Bill’s text.

“Hello, Shezza,” Billy greeted. “Hello, Dr Watson.”

John nodded absently and knelt on the road to examine his patient. He cursed. Betty leaned down anxiously, offering to help him.

“Do what you can, John,” Sherlock said gently. “An ambulance will be here in two minutes.” He turned to Ben. “Show me the trunk.”

Ben pointed at the Hogwarts trunk. Sherlock drew a sharp breath. John and Billy looked up at him, surprised. The detective was impossibly pale as he took in the name stamped on the trunk. He reached out to touch the trunk, but Billy stopped him.

“It’s electrified,” he said. “Ben tried.”

Sherlock shook his head and opened the latch without being electrocuted. He rifled through the contents rapidly, searching for a particular object and sighed in relief when he spotted it. He pulled down the lid and refastened the latch.

“There was also an empty bird cage,” Ben said, pointing.

Sherlock nodded and turned to John.

“Not good,” John replied to the unasked question. “I am not even sure how he is still alive.”

Sherlock pulled out his mobile and called his big brother.

XXX

Mycroft Holmes was not a man given to fear – unless, of course, his little brother was involved. He dreaded the days Sherlock called him – for they always meant that his brother’s life, health or sanity were in terrible danger. And that was why Sherlock’s phone calls to his brother were always answered, regardless of when or where or with whom Mycroft might be.

“Sir, it’s your brother,” Anthea told her boss, looking into the sterilised room.

Mycroft stretched out his left arm as the right was being stitched up by an annoyed surgeon. The surgeon, however, did not say a word at the interruption. Everyone knew Sherlock Holmes must always take priority.

“Yes, Sherlock?” the British Government enquired.

“Phoenix ashes,” Sherlock whispered.

Mycroft closed his eyes and took a deep breath to calm himself. “Are you positive?”

“Yes.”

“Text me the location. I will be there shortly. Do _not_ relinquish custody.”

“Hurry, Mycroft. _Please_.”

Sherlock disconnected before Mycroft could respond.

“Chopper,” the British Government ordered. Anthea nodded and hurried out.

“But Mr Holmes, you must let me dress this laceration before…” the surgeon began.

Mycroft quelled him with a look. “You have until my ride arrives.”

XXX

Sherlock re-routed the ambulance, tipped Ben and Betty and sent them off to get themselves a square meal.

“You will catch the bastards that did this, won’t you?” Wiggins asked him, his face grim.

“I will,” Sherlock promised.

“Good,” Wiggins replied, and departed with a salute.

Sherlock knelt beside John and took the boy’s hand.

“So you know who this is?” John asked quietly. “I’ve never seen you this affected before.”

Sherlock shook his head. “I know what he is.”

“And what is he?”

“What is your diagnosis, Doctor?”

John allowed the deflection and pursed his lips. “Blunt object trauma to the back of the head. Lacerations caused by a long, thin object – perhaps a walking stick. Significant haemorrhage and at least two fractures caused by fists.” John stared at Sherlock, his eyes hard. “The child has been used as a punching bag, Sherlock. I am honestly surprised that he’s still breathing. Where is that bloody ambulance?”

Sherlock’s response was drowned by the sound of a helicopter landing nearby.

The British Government had arrived.

“Mycroft,” Sherlock said and sprang up just as Mycroft entered the street with a couple of women in funny robes.

“Ah, Medi-Witches,” John said. “Excellent.”

Sherlock stared at his friend in shock. “You are a _wizard_?!”

John met his gaze calmly. “I used to be. Are you?”

“I used to be,” Sherlock replied, mimicking him.

Mycroft held up a hand to silence them. “Is the boy who I think he is?” he asked John.

John nodded. “He has the scar. And his name is on the trunk.” He turned to Sherlock. “How could you not know?”

“He doesn’t know who the Prime Minister is, John,” Mycroft said.

John smiled. “Point taken.”

Sherlock caught his brother’s injured arm. Mycroft’s wince did not go unnoticed.

“Who is he?” Sherlock asked. “And what’s wrong with you?”

“Harry James Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived,” Mycroft replied. “He is known to have defeated the Dark Lord when he was a baby.” He sighed. “You can process your data retrieval later, Sherlock. We have to get him to safety for now.”

The three men turned to the Medi-Witches.

“He will be fine in a couple of days,” the older witch said. “The _force majeure magica_ saved his life and the well-timed healing spells helped his natural magic to kick in. It would be best to keep him under a sleeping spell till his body mends itself.”

Mycroft pinched the bridge of his nose. “Sherlock, please tell me you didn’t…”

“I had no choice, Mycroft. I didn’t know John had performed healing spells,” Sherlock replied.

John stared at Sherlock with wide, horrified eyes.

“We will discuss this, little brother,” Mycroft promised ominously and led everyone to the waiting car.

XXX

The Medi-Witches left after Harry Potter was successfully installed in one of the guest rooms of Mycroft’s townhouse.

Mycroft, Sherlock and John sat in Mycroft’s study with generously filled glasses of Firewhiskey.

“Shouldn’t you inform the Ministry? They must be looking for him,” John told Mycroft.

Mycroft waved a dismissive hand. And winced.

“What’s wrong with you?” Sherlock asked. “You have been avoiding my question.”

“A minor injury, Sherlock. Nothing to worry about.”

“Let John check.”

“Unnecessary.”

The brothers glared at each other murderously. John sighed and wordlessly shot a generic healing spell at his friend’s brother. Mycroft turned his eyes to the doctor, surprised.

“That was…expertly done,” he said. “Thank you, John.”

Sherlock smirked.

“It’s your turn now, Brother Dear,” Mycroft intoned silkily. “Give me your hand.”

Sherlock shook his head. “I barely use magic. It’s not going to drain me.”

Mycroft sighed. “You know what happened last time, Sherlock. Your hand, please.”

Sherlock extended his hand reluctantly. Mycroft grabbed his brother’s forearm and incanted an old spell John could not recognise. Both Holmes’ eyes flashed silver for a moment. Then they let go.

“What did you do?” John asked curiously.

“He fixed the magical drain I suffered by performing a _force majeure magica_ on a non-family member,” Sherlock replied. “He gave me a bit of his magic.”

John was suitably impressed. “They don’t teach these things at Hogwarts.”

Sherlock smiled. “They don’t teach it at Beauxbatons, either.”

That answered the question John had been dying to ask. “I can’t believe you guys went to France to study!” John said. “What’s wrong with Hogwarts?”

Sherlock laughed. “All schools are equally boring, John. We were required to go to Beauxbatons because we are Vernet descendants.”

“How did you get to be British, then?”

Mycroft and Sherlock shared a look. “We are related to Emrys.”

John could feel his jaw hit the floor.

XXX

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here’s the original prompt:
> 
> A Sherlock x Harry Potter crossover where Sherlock rescues harry and adopts him or finds out he's his biological son.
> 
>  Or they meet 3rd year after he run off.
> 
>  Or Sherlock finds him on the doorstep (Dursleys)
> 
>  Or they abandoned the doorstep baby in London's street. Where the homeless network brings him to Sherlock.


	2. The Other One

 

“So, what happens to Harry once he wakes up?” John asked over a lavish breakfast at Mycroft’s home the next morning. “You clearly can’t send him back to his guardians.”

“If I am not mistaken, the boy’s magic will now recognise Sherlock as his guardian, just as his familiar does,” Mycroft said. He looked at his brother. “Would you be willing to take custody of a child?”

Hedwig had turned up the previous night, pecked Sherlock and settled next to the sleeping boy. Sherlock had spent most of the night gathering data and now knew all there was to know about The Boy-Who-Lived. “It seems the only option to keep him safe,” he said. “The blood protection invoked by Dumbledore is useless if his family nearly kills him, and an unrelated guardian would become a target for Voldemort.”

“You do realise there is a psychotic killer out for his blood?” John asked glancing at the Daily Prophet headlines which proclaimed ‘Mass-murderer Escapee from Azkaban abducts The Boy-Who-Lived!’.

“Who, Sirius Black? I looked him up last night. I am reasonably sure he is innocent,” Sherlock replied. “He is also Harry’s godfather.”

“Are you sure about this, Sherlock?” Mycroft asked grimly.

“There are too many irregularities in his case. There is no documented Dark Mark on his forearm. He was not given a trial or questioned under Veritaserum. Why would he go after Pettigrew? It doesn’t make sense.” Sherlock paused. “Now they are trying to pin the blame for Harry’s disappearance on Black as well.”

“Then it is time for us to interfere,” came a soft voice from the doorway.

Sherlock and Mycroft’s faces melted into the fondest, softest smile John had ever seen on either Holmes. The newcomer was a young man in his early twenties and looked a lot like Sherlock.

The man practically ran to Mycroft and embraced him. John expected Mycroft to shrink back in horror or stop him with a look, but Mycroft _smiled_ , patted him on the back and kissed his brow. Sherlock _mirrored_ his brothers’ actions. John could scarcely believe his eyes.

“John, this is our brother, Emrys Holmes,” Sherlock told the befuddled doctor, smiling – really, genuinely smiling, not the crazy, scary, psychopath smile he terrorised people with.

John held out a hand to Emrys. “Er…lovely to meet you.”

The three brothers laughed.

“Don’t look so shocked, John,” Sherlock said, his trademark smirk back on his face. “We are not completely incapable of affection.”

“Whatever happened to ‘caring is not an advantage’ and ‘sentiment is the grit in the lens, the fly in the ointment’?” John shot back.

“That’s for _people_. Emrys is not _people_.” Sherlock sounded like a petulant child.

Emrys laughed. “Oh, they care all right, Dr Watson – they are just too emotionally constipated to show it properly. I’ve been training them my entire life to get to this stage.”

John swallowed his shock with great difficulty and turned to Sherlock. “So…when you say you are related to Emrys, you mean him, right? Not Merlin himself?”

Emrys looked surprised. He turned to Sherlock. “You trust him?”

“With my life,” Sherlock replied.

“And with ours?” Emrys pressed.

Sherlock glanced at Mycroft. “Yes,” Mycroft said firmly.

Emrys smiled and looked so much like Sherlock for a moment that John felt affection well up in him for the youngest Holmes.

“Dr Watson, I _am_ Merlin,” Emrys declared. “And I am very pleased to finally meet you.”

“You’re kidding me,” John murmured.

“I assure you, John, my brother is quite serious,” Sherlock said.

John cursed under his breath. Mycroft and Emrys cocked an eyebrow each, and John could see the similarities between them as well.

“Give a bloke some time to digest this, yeah?” John muttered. “I assume all of this is well beyond a mortal’s clearance levels and I must not breathe a word to anyone, including my wife?”

“I am afraid so,” Mycroft said.

“All right then, should we check up on Harry Potter?” John asked brightly.

In the hour that followed, John learnt that Emrys was the nicest Holmes. He was clumsy, friendly, likeable, a bit shy and ridiculously normal. He was also the baby of the family and his older brothers clearly doted on him. John had never imagined in his wildest dreams that Sherlock – and hell, Mycroft – could be so openly affectionate. There were no insults (thinly veiled or otherwise) when Emrys knocked over things (and he did that _a lot_ ).

Harry Potter remained under the sleeping spell and healed nicely – mostly thanks to Sherlock’s reckless magic. Emrys was not pleased with his brothers.

“I _told_ you not to do that, Sherlock,” he said to the detective, his eyes flashing gold. “Why won’t you ever listen to me? You could have died!”

Sherlock rolled his eyes.

Emrys turned to Mycroft. “And you! Get over your big brother act before it kills you!”

Mycroft rolled his eyes as well.

To John’s horror, Emrys’ eyes filled with tears. “I don’t want to lose my brothers,” he said in a small voice.

Sherlock and Mycroft were immediately contrite. While the British Government and the Consulting Detective were busy fawning over their baby brother, trying to comfort him, Emrys looked up at John and _winked_.

The youngest Holmes was much cleverer than he looked, John realised. He could play his brothers as well as Sherlock played the violin. Smiling to himself, he left for work.

XXX

John returned to Mycroft’s townhouse the next evening. Sherlock had texted him, indicating that Harry had healed enough to be woken.

He found the three Holmes brothers talking quietly. They smiled at him when he entered.

“May I see your wand, Dr Watson?” Emrys asked.

“John,” the doctor said, and shook his wand out of his sleeve. Emrys examined it carefully and handed it back.

“Sheesham wood, dragon heartstring – unusual combination. You must be a very interesting man, John. No wonder Sherlock adores you so,” Emrys said.

Sherlock’s high cheekbones flushed a delicate shade of red.

John cleared his throat. “It can’t possibly be more unusual than Sherlock’s.”

“We hardly use our wands, John,” Sherlock said. “We got one for school, but we don’t need it.”

“How do you focus your magic…?” John began, but stopped. “Sorry, stupid. Of _course_ you don’t need an external aid to focus your magic.”

“I believe it is time we checked upon young Mr Potter,” Mycroft declared.

The four men walked to the room where the boy slept.

“Emrys, if you would be so kind,” Mycroft said, gesturing at the child.

The youngest Holmes’ eyes flashed gold as he laid a gentle hand upon the boy’s chest. The boy took a deep breath and opened his eyes.

And promptly panicked, his brilliant green eyes glowing eerily like an _Avada Kedavra._ John stepped back automatically as everything in the room shook.

“Harry,” Sherlock called, his deep baritone soft and soothing. “Calm down. You are safe.”

Harry’s eyes flicked to Sherlock and he held out his hand. Sherlock took the boy’s hand. Their eyes flashed silver and the boy calmed visibly. The room stopped shaking.

“How are you feeling?” John asked, stepping up next to Sherlock.

Harry blinked owlishly and Sherlock handed him a pair of glasses.

“Surprisingly well,” Harry replied, sitting up on the bed. “What happened? Who are you?”

Sherlock introduced everyone in the room.

Harry’s eyes widened. “You’re the famous detective! How did you find me?”

“What do you remember?”

Harry frowned. “I was angry. Aunt Marge was badmouthing my parents. I…” He hesitated.

“You can speak of magic freely,” Sherlock said.

“I blew her up like a balloon. She floated out of the house. I grabbed my trunk – I knew I was going to be expelled, so I thought I’d get some money from Gringotts and find somewhere to live…but I couldn’t get out. Something hit me at the back and I fell. Then they started hitting me…I don’t remember anything else.” He looked up at the four adults. “What happens to me now? What do expelled wizards do?”

“You will not be expelled,” Sherlock said firmly. “If you wish to go back to Hogwarts to complete your education, you are free to do so.”

“Really?” the hope in the boy’s voice was heart-breaking. John noticed that Emrys’ eyes watered.

“Absolutely,” Sherlock promised.

“You won’t send me back to the Dursleys? I know Dumbledore says it is for my protection, but…” Harry looked away.

“You will not return to those… _cretins_ ,” Sherlock spat out the last word.

Harry heaved a sigh of relief.

“However, there is the matter of your protection,” Mycroft spoke up. John noticed that he spoke gently, in a tone he had never heard the oldest Holmes brother use before.

Harry’s face crumpled. Emrys rushed to the boy’s side and knelt on the floor.

“You are not going back to them. We won’t let it happen. I promise,” he told Harry.

“Sherlock triggered an ancient magic to save your life, Mr Potter,” Mycroft said. “As a consequence, your magic now considers him a guardian.”

“And I am happy to offer you a home,” Sherlock added quickly.

Harry blinked.

“As far as your relatives are concerned, they are presently incarcerated for child abuse and grievous injury to a minor by Muggle authorities. Your Headmaster has requested that a magical prosecution be avoided to stem any magical backlash against Muggle-borns and Muggles in general – but should you wish otherwise, we can arrange for a magical trial for the Dursleys as well,” Mycroft continued smoothly.

“You threw the Dursleys in _jail_?” Harry asked, regarding Mycroft with something dangerously close to adulation. “For what they did to _me_?”

“Indeed.” Mycroft sounded pleased.

“And you will send them to wizarding jail if I ask?”

“Of course.”

“Thank you,” Harry said fervently. “Don’t bother with the wizarding trial; Dumbledore is right, it will only make life difficult for Muggle-borns and Muggles. All Muggles are not bad – my friend Hermione’s parents are very nice.”

“Very well,” Mycroft replied. “Should I inform your Headmaster that you will be taking up Sherlock’s offer?”

Harry nodded.

“Shouldn’t you also let the Ministry know that he is safe? I am sure his friends are worried,” John said.

Harry looked confused. Emrys handed him a copy of The Daily Prophet. Harry read it quickly.

“Who is Sirius Black?” he asked curiously. “And why would he want to kidnap me?”

“According to popular opinion, Sirius Black is your father’s best friend and your godfather, and betrayed your parents to Voldemort by breaking the Fidelus Charm, and then blew up his friend Peter Pettigrew along with thirteen Muggles,” Sherlock replied.

The room shook again as Harry trembled.

 

 


	3. The Mysterious Case of Sirius Black

 

“Harry! Calm down!” Sherlock exclaimed.

Emrys sighed and shook his head. For all their intellect, his brothers never really got the hang of human nature. His eyes flashed gold as he cast a calming spell at the boy.

The tremors subsided. Mycroft sighed and wondered if his home would survive the ordeal.

“Sirius Black may be innocent,” John said quickly. “We will investigate further, but Sherlock has found several discrepancies in the case.”

“Oh,” Harry said, shamefaced. “I’m sorry.”

John glared at Sherlock. The detective flushed.

“There is no need for you to apologise, Harry,” Sherlock said. “I could have used better words.”

Harry looked up at him. “Is it true?”

Sherlock nodded.

“Then why shouldn’t you say it?”

Sherlock smiled triumphantly at John, who shrugged resignedly.

“You may wish to write to your friends and assure them of your safety while I take care of Albus and the Ministry,” Mycroft suggested. “Dinner will be served in an hour.”

“Thank you,” Harry said, and Mycroft left. Sherlock and John followed him.

Emrys showed Harry around the room and where his trunk was stored.

“Don’t hesitate to call one of us if you need anything, ok?” he told the boy. “And don’t let Sherlock or Mycroft scare you or push you into doing anything you don’t want to. They may be clever and powerful, but they’re big softies on the inside – trust me, I know.”

“I’m really going to live with Sherlock Holmes?” Harry asked, still unable to wrap his mind around the idea. “Why would he even want me?”

“You are magically bonded now,” Emrys explained. “Sherlock performed very dangerous magic to save you.”

“Is he ok?”

“He’s fine. Mycroft fixed him. And before you ask, Mycroft’s fine, too.” Emrys shot him a disarming smile.

Harry smiled back.

“I’ll leave you to your letters, then. Be ready in an hour; I’ll come to fetch you for dinner.”

XXX

Dinner was a quiet affair as Harry was clearly exhausted and the adults were reluctant to tax him further. Emrys and John made small talk. Harry was delighted to learn that John had been in Gryffindor, too and a little disappointed that the three Holmeses were Beauxbatons alumni.

“But don’t you have houses in Beauxbatons?” Harry asked curiously.

Mycroft smiled indulgently. “Had we studied at Hogwarts, I believe all three of us would have been in Slytherin.”

Harry frowned. So did John.

“I’d have thought Ravenclaw for Sherlock and Gryffindor for Emrys,” the doctor said.

“We are not as different as you might think,” Emrys replied.

Sherlock pouted, but did not object.

“If anything, Mycroft is the least ambitious of us all,” Emrys continued. “He is more likely to have been shunted to Ravenclaw.”

“Mycroft says bravery is the kindest word for stupidity,” John objected.

“And he wouldn’t be caught dead in Gryffindor,” Emrys replied. “Sherlock might, though.”

“But you’re _nice_ ,” Harry objected. “All of you!”

Sherlock looked appalled at being called nice. So did Mycroft, but less visibly. Emrys laughed heartily.

“Beware, young Harry,” Emrys warned, still laughing. “You must never publicly accuse my brothers of being nice! It will ruin their reputation.” He turned serious. “Whatever you might have been told, Harry, bear in mind that Slytherin does not equate to evil. There are good people and bad people in all houses.”

“But Voldemort…”

“Was just one Slytherin. There have been plenty of Dark witches and wizards from all houses. And there have been plenty of good witches and wizards in Slytherin.” Emrys narrowed his eyes. “If I am not mistaken, I’d have thought the Sorting Hat would have offered you Slytherin as well.”

Harry started. How had Emrys known?

As if sensing the unspoken question, Emrys replied, “If your adventures are anything to go by, you possess many fine qualities Salazar would have valued.”

“Dumbledore said the same thing,” Harry mumbled.

Mycroft nodded thoughtfully. “While recent events may dictate otherwise, Albus is a great man – just not infallible. He made a mistake with you, Harry, but my brothers and I will do our best to rectify the same.”

Harry stared at the napkin in his lap, unable to answer. He felt a gentle hand settle on his shoulder, and looked up into the face of Sherlock Holmes, regarding him softly.

“Are you sure it is ok for me to stay with you?” he blurted. “I mean, I can go to an orphanage or something. Anywhere except the Dursleys is fine.”

Sherlock’s face hardened. He opened his mouth to speak, but then stopped. He sent John a beseeching look.

“Sherlock will appreciate your company, Harry,” John said gently. “He could do with a bit of looking after, too. The flat is a pigsty when I’m not around.”

Sherlock glared at his doctor, but softened when Harry laughed.

“We should set up more protective wards around 221B, though,” Emrys suggested. Mycroft agreed with him.

Harry yawned, and the adults immediately sent him off to bed.

“You need to clean the flat,” John told Sherlock as soon as Harry was out of earshot. “He’ll run away screaming if he sees your fridge.”

“You know you are always welcome to stay here as long as you like, Sherlock,” Mycroft said.

“Thank you, brother dear,” Sherlock replied. “But it might be best to let the boy get used to Baker Street as soon as possible.”

“I have some time off,” Emrys said quickly. “I’ll help out.”

Sherlock was torn between relief and irritation. He finally settled for a small smile at his younger brother.

“And you know that you are more than welcome to come around to my place anytime you want, Sherlock,” John reminded him. “I hope you remember that you’re going to be my daughter’s godfather in a few weeks.”

“Yes, John,” Sherlock intoned.

Emrys and Mycroft exchanged a look that went unnoticed by the detective and the doctor.

XXX

Two days later, Harry Potter officially moved into 221B Baker Street as the ward of Sherlock Holmes. Mrs Hudson cooed over him as if he were her own grandchild, and was delighted to meet Emrys again.

Mycroft had smoothed things over at the Ministry of Magic as well as Hogwarts, so no one bothered Harry. Ron and Hermione didn’t really have a chance to worry over their friend; Harry’s letter reached them before news of his misfortune did. Ron, of course, was blissfully enjoying Egypt and suggested they meet in Diagon Alley a couple of days before they left for school. Hermione was back from her vacation with her parents, and absolutely thrilled to learn the identity of Harry’s new guardian. Soon enough, she was sending him requests to arrange a meeting.

Emrys had set up John’s room for Harry, much to Harry’s delight. John’s Spartan furnishings had been magically replaced by appropriate (and inappropriate, courtesy of Sherlock) items for a thirteen year old wizard. Emrys even added a spot of wizarding space so that when Harry had his friends over, there would be plenty of space.

A few days after Harry and Emrys moved in, Detective Inspector Lestrade walked into 221B to summon Sherlock (who wasn’t answering his phone as usual) and found Emrys and Harry seated in Sherlock and John’s chairs and focused on a game of chess.

Greg Lestrade was not a superstitious man, nor a man who believed in magic or miracles. However, when it came to Sherlock Holmes, he had learnt to expect the unexpected. A younger version of Sherlock and a child was, however, the last thing he expected in Sherlock’s abode.

Greg shook his head to clear it and rubbed his eyes thoroughly to drive away the exhaustion of two consecutive all-nighters. Hoping the mirage would resolve itself, he opened his eyes and found the same view greeting him.

“Er…hello?”

Emrys and Harry looked up at the Detective Inspector.

“Hello,” Emrys said. “You must be Detective Inspector Lestrade. Sherlock speaks well of you.”

Now Greg was sure he had fallen through the looking glass. “He does?!”

Emrys laughed. “Well, he implies it. And if you believe John, Sherlock’s been known to say ‘he’s a man and good at it’ about you. For Sherlock, that’s high praise.”

Greg flushed, pleased.

“I’m Emrys Holmes, Sherlock’s younger brother,” Emrys continued. “And that’s Harry Potter, Sherlock’s ward.”

Greg’s jaw hit the floor. It took him a full minute to get his bearings. There was another Holmes, who was actually _nice_ and Sherlock had become a guardian to a young boy. Wait, what?!

“Who in their right mind gave Sherlock the custody of a child?!” the question burst out before Greg could stop it.

Emrys and Harry, who had been wearing near-identical expressions of amusement till now, frowned.

“And why, may I ask, would you assume that my brother is incapable of caring for a child?” Emrys sounded exactly like Mycroft. If Greg had any doubt that he was not a Holmes, it vanished.

Greg flushed again. “Look, I know Sherlock is a genius and all, and God knows I care for the bugger, but Sherlock needs looking after – he is barely more than a child except for his great brain!”

Harry stood up. “I am thirteen,” he said coldly. “I don’t need a babysitter. Sherlock is a great guardian.”

Greg threw up his hands in a conciliatory gesture. As luck would have it, Donovan chose that moment to barge in.

“Greg, have you found the freak yet?” she demanded, throwing the door open.

Emrys and Harry glared at her. Greg winced.

“Whatever your case is, Sherlock will not be taking it,” Emrys declared. “He does not need to put up with abuse for his charity.”

“And who the hell are you to speak for the freak?” Donovan spat.

“I am Emrys Holmes, Sherlock’s younger brother, and this is Harry Potter, Sherlock’s ward. And I will thank you, Sergeant Donovan, to keep a civil tongue in your mouth when speaking of my family,” Emrys told her, his voice dripping ice.

While Emrys’ rage was icy, Harry’s ire burned hot. He trembled at the use of the word ‘freak’ – a moniker used all too often by his so-called family, and to have the same word hurled at his protector, his guardian, who had been nothing but kind to him, literally fuelled the fire. Donovan’s jacket caught fire.

“You should be more careful with your cigarette lighter, Sally Donovan,” Emrys said gleefully, grabbing a can of fire extinguisher and covering her with foam. “I am afraid I will have to agree with my brother about the collective intelligence of the police force.”

Greg sighed. “Go home, Donovan,” he said tiredly.

“You’re going to let him speak to me like that?” she raged.

“You were out of line.”

She stamped her foot and walked away.

“I’m sorry about that,” Greg said to Emrys and Harry.

Emrys had his arm around Harry’s shoulders. “Wake Sherlock, would you, Harry?” Emrys requested, releasing the boy.

Harry scooted off.

“Look, Detective Inspector, I know you are a good man – but please understand this. You have to take control of the abuse Sherlock faces at New Scotland Yard. Mycroft doesn’t interfere because Sherlock’s forbidden him to, but your juniors have already crossed the line once before, and you lost Sherlock for two years. I will not go into the details of what Sherlock faced during the time, but know this – if you knew, you would not be able to sleep for months. And then there’s Harry, who is still traumatised. His previous guardians beat him to a pulp and left him for dead. Sherlock rescued him and took him in. The last thing we want is any idiot triggering Harry’s PTSD. ‘Freak’ is one word which must never be uttered in Harry’s presence. From the time he was a year old, his relatives used the word to excuse their abuse of him.”

Greg sighed. “I understand.”

Sherlock chose that moment to walk in, with Harry right behind him. “Little brother, have you been lecturing Scotland Yard?”

Emrys grinned. “You missed all the fun, Sherlock. We sprayed Donovan with foam.”

Sherlock smiled. “What brings you here, Gunter?”

Greg sighed again. “Greg,” he said automatically. “Need your help. A mass murderer is on the loose, but they won’t tell us where he escaped from. Apparently he killed thirteen people with a gas blast twelve years ago – God knows how.”

“Ah,” Sherlock said. “You speak of Sirius Black.”

Greg nodded.

“I looked into it. Black is innocent; he was framed and wrongfully imprisoned. I’d advise you to shove the case file in the archives and move onto something else.”

“But…”

“I will not help you put an innocent man away, Detective Inspector,” Sherlock said firmly.

“Shouldn’t you help me prove him innocent?” Greg challenged.

Sherlock smiled. “Very good, Gregory,” he said. “There may be hope yet for Scotland Yard after all.” He turned serious. “Forget the case. MI6 will take it away from you by tomorrow.”

Greg rubbed his face tiredly and nodded. Then he stepped forward and hugged Sherlock.

“Let me know if you need any help with anything, you magnificent bastard.”

Sherlock Holmes stared after his friend in shock while Emrys and Harry giggled.

XXX

The same evening, Emrys took Harry for a walk while Sherlock visited Mycroft to discuss developments in the Sirius Black case. Emrys bought a Knickerbocker Glory for Harry and went to get a coffee for himself.

Harry ate his sundae with great relish, wondering what Dudley would say if he saw him now. The Holmes brothers were clearly moneyed, and the Dursleys would probably have mooned over them. He imagined Mycroft taking on Uncle Vernon and laughed to himself.

A bark interrupted his reverie. A shaggy black dog, clearly in dire need of food and grooming, looked up at him sadly.

“Are you hungry?” Harry asked softly. He could have sworn the dog nodded. Harry held out his sundae, and the dog wagged his tail happily as he devoured it. Feeling around in his pockets, Harry found a pack of biscuits and fed them to the dog as well. The dog butted Harry’s knee with its head as Harry scratched his ears.

“Got yourself a dog, Harry?” Emrys asked, eyeing the dog carefully.

“Do you think Sherlock would mind if we took him home – just for a few days? I think he’s lost and hungry,” Harry asked Emrys, his eyes pleading.

Emrys smiled. “Oh, Sherlock loves dogs. I think he will find this one very interesting indeed.”

XXX

Sherlock did. Once he was given a wash, the dog – ‘Snuffles’, according to Harry – turned out to be quite a handsome specimen, though a bit undernourished.

“Don’t worry, we’ll fatten you up in no time at all,” Harry promised, patting the dog.

The dog whined affectionately.

Sherlock and Emrys, meanwhile, were having a hushed discussion in the kitchen.

“That’s not a real dog,” Sherlock said. “He bears all the markings of an Animagus.”

“It’s Sirius Black, Sherlock. I can see his true form,” Emrys replied.

Sherlock rubbed his hands. “Excellent. Let’s call Mycroft and return Harry’s godfather to him. I have enough evidence to prove his innocence, and he can be questioned under Veritaserum for good measure.”

Mycroft Holmes was only too happy to come over.

XXX

“Hello, Harry,” Mycroft said, twirling his umbrella. “How is my favourite nephew doing?”

Harry smiled up at him. “I’m your only nephew,” he replied cheekily. “Meet Snuffles, our new housemate.”

“Hello, Sirius,” Mycroft said. “We have been looking for you.”

The dog shrank away.

Emrys sighed. His brothers and their dramatics.

“Don’t worry, Mr Black, we know you are innocent,” Emrys said.

“If you could tell us where Pettigrew might be, we will be able to get you off the hook for good,” Sherlock added.

The dog turned into a wizard and Sirius Black narrated the entire story to his godson and his newfound protectors.

 


	4. Moony, Padfoot and the Half-Blood Prince

 

Sirius’ tale was vindicated by indisputable evidence put together by Sherlock. While Mycroft usually didn’t meddle with the magical world, he was still Lord Holmes and held a seat at the Wizengamot, as he had inherited the title when his father abdicated. Mr Holmes often claimed that he’d just been waiting for Mycroft to turn seventeen so he could dump the title (and the accompanying headache) on his eldest because he knew Mycroft was way more capable than he ever could be.

Mycroft, of course, had excelled at it. It annoyed Sherlock to no end, but even the detective could acknowledge his brother’s usefulness. In fact, Sherlock made himself scarce whenever Mycroft threatened to pass on the title to him.

So it happened that an emergency session of the Wizengamot was called, and Sirius Black’s innocence was proved beyond doubt. Besides his freedom, Sirius was also given a substantial sum as compensation (not that he needed any), as well as additional privileges, which included access to Hogwarts and concessions on taxes.

Peter Pettigrew (or Scabbers, as Harry and his friends knew him) was nearly Kissed by the Dementors, but managed to escape with his life and soul intact. Sherlock ranted at the Aurors who were in charge of security, insisting they were worse than the muggle police. He was nearly jinxed by the annoyed Aurors, but Harry stepped in at the right moment.

“Sherlock!” Harry called. “Come on, I want to go home.”

The six Aurors who were being dressed down by Sherlock turned to look at him.

“That’s Harry Potter!” one of them called, and they all went over to shake hands with him.

“Do you know this Squib, Mr Potter?” another asked, pointing at Sherlock. “He’s been a pain in the arse; we were about to jinx him.”

Harry laughed. Sherlock, a Squib? “That’s my guardian,” he said happily. “Don’t mind him; he’s paranoid about my safety.”

The Aurors were shocked. “We thought you were under the aegis of Lord Holmes.”

“I am. That’s his brother.”

With a cry of “You are Sherlock Holmes?!”, the Aurors ran to Sherlock, an inch away from clamouring for his autograph and raining him with questions on deduction and applied magic.

Sherlock, in his inimitable style, turned up his nose at them.

XXX

Emrys and Harry waited in the hall for Sherlock and Mycroft when they saw Sirius with another man, arguing heatedly.

“Why didn’t you tell me you had switched, Sirius?” the man asked. He looked pale and exhausted, and his skin was covered with scratches.

“We were warned there was a traitor in our midst, Remus,” Sirius snapped. “And it’s not as if you came forward to swear my innocence.”

“I was told Dumbledore performed the ceremony himself!” the other man – Remus – cried. “And I thought…I thought…” He looked away. “I am sorry that I doubted you. I am sorrier than I can ever express, Padfoot.”

“And I am sorry I doubted you, too, Moony,” Sirius said quietly.

The two friends stared at each other for a long time before folding into an embrace.

“Do you want to meet the cub?” Sirius asked. “He made it all possible.”

Remus nodded eagerly and the two men made their way to Harry. Harry and Emrys quickly started a random conversation to pretend they had not been eavesdropping on Sirius and Remus.

“Harry, meet Moony – also known as Remus Lupin, and your new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher.”

“Really? You’re teaching DADA?” Harry asked curiously.

“Very pleased to meet you, Harry,” Remus said softly, his brown eyes glistening. “Has anyone told you that you look…”

“…just like my father but with my mum’s eyes?” Harry finished for him. He smiled. “Almost everyone I’ve ever met in the wizarding world.”

“I’m sorry,” Remus said immediately. “James and Lily were dear friends and I’m glad to see them live on in you.”

Emrys was regarding Remus with narrowed eyes.

“How will you manage the classes around full moon days?” Emrys asked bluntly.

Remus went white. Sirius frowned. Harry just looked confused.

Remus was saved from responding by the arrival of Mycroft and Sherlock. The Holmes’ exchanged a dark look.

“Perhaps we should discuss this at a secure location,” Sirius said. “I know just the place.”

XXX

12 Grimmauld Place was both grim and old. It was also unplottable and blood-protected, and no one except the Black heir could open it.

They were greeted by a screaming portrait of Sirius’ mother and the grumpiest house-elf in the world.

Sirius and Remus seemed to expect the invective, and went in unruffled. Harry walked in next, only to be stopped by a blood-curdling cry of “half-blood mongrel!”

Emrys, who was right behind Harry, nearly bumped into the frozen boy. Emrys’ eyes flashed gold. Sirius’ mother shut up immediately. Kreacher fell at Emrys’ feet, wailing.

“Forgive Kreacher, Master Emrys,” the old elf begged. “Kreacher did not know Master Black had such great friends.”

Emrys nodded curtly at the elf and led Harry inside. Mycroft and Sherlock came in next, without incident. 

Once they were all seated comfortably in the dusty dining hall, Sirius turned to Emrys and asked, “How did you know?”

“Know what?” Harry asked.

“That Sirius’ friend is a werewolf,” Sherlock declared. “It’s obvious.”

“How the hell is it obvious?” Sirius asked.

“His robes are cheap and have been mended many times – so, problem getting employed. The wand is Cherrywood, most likely with a dragon heartstring – so, a competent, skilled wizard. Why would such a wizard have trouble being employed? He looks tired and ill two days after the full moon. The scratch patterns indicate a large dog or wolf, and there are many similar scratches of varying ages. So, a werewolf.” Sherlock rattled off in a single breath.

“Brilliant,” Harry whispered. Sherlock beamed at him.

“Which brings us back to the classes,” Emrys said.

Remus sighed. “Dumbledore has promised me Wolfsbane and a substitute teacher.”

“Who will be the substitute teacher?” Harry asked.

“Professor Snape,” Remus replied.

“No!” Sirius said. “That greasy git will sabotage your potion _and_ your classes!”

Harry groaned. “He will terrorise me in two classes now?”

“Dumbledore trusts him,” Remus said quietly.

“Dumbledore trusted Harry’s relatives and Peter Pettigrew,” Sherlock spat. “Not exactly a glowing recommendation.” He turned to Harry. “Tell me about this Snape.”

So Harry began his tale, right from the first time he had ever laid his eyes on Severus Snape. The three Holmes looked thoughtful.

“And what do you know about him?” Sherlock asked Sirius and Remus. The Marauders gave them a brief sketch of their Hogwarts years.

“So Snape was friends with Harry’s mother?” Sherlock asked.

Sirius and Remus exchanged a dark look. “He was probably in love with Lily. Lily was always trying to protect him from us, right up until the day he called her a Mudblood in front of half the school,” Sirius said.

“And he was a supporter of Voldemort? Are you sure?” Emrys asked.

“Yes. He was a Death Eater. He was released because Dumbledore claimed Snape had been a spy for him,” Remus said.

“I want to meet this man,” Sherlock declared. “Despite his abominable behaviour towards Harry, he seems to go out of his way to protect Harry every time he’s in danger.”

“Indeed,” Mycroft said, stroking his chin with a long finger. “Let me see what I can arrange, brother dear.”

XXX

True to his word, Mycroft turned up with Severus Snape at 221B in a few days. Sherlock was teaching Harry how to use his microscope and Emrys was making tea when they arrived.

“Always in time for cream tea, aren’t you, Mycroft?” Sherlock quipped.

“Hush, little brother,” Mycroft chided. “You have guests.” He led Severus to a chair.

“Er, hello, Professor,” Harry greeted his least favourite teacher, taking a seat next to Sherlock.

Severus looked sharp in a well-fitted muggle suit.

“Potter.” Severus inclined his head. He focused his raptor gaze at Harry and went white with anger. “Petunia,” he swore. “I will kill them.”

Harry took a step back. Emrys stood up.

“I hoped a Professor would be aware that reading the minds of hapless students is frowned upon,” Emrys said.

Snape blinked and turned to stare at Emrys.

“You will find that Legilimency does not work on me – or my brothers. I’m sure you’ve already tried with Mycroft,” Emrys continued.

Snape turned the colour of sour milk. “Apologies,” he murmured.

“You have been keeping Harry safe,” Sherlock spoke up. “Yet you pretend to hate him, and are regularly unfair, even cruel, to him. Explain.”

Severus paled, and then smirked. “Very good, Mr Holmes – I am impressed.”

“I don’t think he knows it himself, Sherlock,” Emrys said. “He loved Lily and he can see her eyes on Harry, but he also hated James, who is also visible in Harry. Perhaps he imagines Harry should have been his son.”

Severus stood up. “Lord Holmes,” he said to Mycroft. “Did you bring me here to be insulted by your brothers?”

Mycroft stared him down, and Severus resumed his seat.

“I am not my father, Professor,” Harry said quietly. “I am not my mother, either.”

Severus stared at him hard. “Yes,” he said finally. “I can see that now.”

“Why do you protect me?” Harry asked.

“Your mother was my best friend. You…have her eyes.”

“Would you still have hated me if I was in Slytherin?”

Severus sighed. “I don’t hate you, Potter.” He smile slightly. “You wouldn’t have lasted a day in Slytherin, with your hero complex.”

“I was nearly sorted into Slytherin,” Harry told him. “The Sorting Hat only put me in Gryffindor because I begged it to put me anywhere except Slytherin.”

Severus looked shocked.

“I hope, Professor, that a Holmes ward, a child of your friend and a student who has been mistreated by his own family – would be treated better in the future,” Mycroft drawled.

Severus nodded. He looked at Harry. “Why didn’t you ever say anything, Potter? Someone would have put Petunia and her fat husband right. The Headmaster, Minerva – or even myself.”

“No one cared. Dumbledore left me there,” Harry said in a small voice. “And you hate me. I was afraid Professor McGonagall might hate me too, if I told her the truth.”

“I swore to protect you when you were born,” Severus said crossly.

“And how on earth was Harry supposed to know that when you have been nothing but abusive towards him right from the start?” Emrys snapped.

Severus sighed. “I have been remiss.”

It was Harry who forgave the bitter man first. “Could you tell me about my mother sometime, Professor? Sirius and Remus said that you knew her before Hogwarts, and that you were best friends.”

“Yes, of course,” Severus said. “I will try not to be unnecessarily cruel in the future, Potter, but I cannot be friendly to you in public, either. The Dark Lord _will_ rise again, and I will have to take over my spying duties again. If I am known as your ally, Dumbledore will lose a resource. When we need to speak, I must assign you a detention.”

“How will you protect Harry if you serve Voldemort?” Emrys asked angrily.

“I’m bound by an Unbreakable Vow,” Severus replied. He looked straight at Sherlock. “If that does not satisfy you, I am happy to make another.”

“Unnecessary,” Sherlock said. “I wonder if you are aware of the extent of Dumbledore’s machinations to deprive Harry of appropriate guardians, though. I am wary of people who trust him blindly, and most of his teachers seem to fall into that category.”

“He is the most powerful wizard on earth at the moment. Even the Dark Lord fears him. And Harry is bound to the Dark Lord by a prophecy. If you can find a way to keep Harry away from Albus’ manipulations and yet defeat the Dark Lord, you will have my unhindered support,” Severus swore.

“Thank you, Professor,” Sherlock said. Harry asked at the same time, “What prophecy?”

“Albus will tell you himself when the time is right.” Severus pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Is he raising Harry as a lamb to slaughter?” Sherlock asked in a dangerous voice.

Severus flinched. The three Holmes brothers received their answer. Harry looked resigned to his fate.

“Merlin save us,” Severus whispered.

“Don’t worry, he will,” Emrys promised quietly. “Tell us about this prophecy, Professor.”

 


	5. The Prophecy

 

The prophecy left Harry numb. He would either be a murderer or end up dead. Would he be able to live with himself if he actually managed to kill Voldemort? How was he even supposed to kill the dark wizard? He didn’t have any special powers, let alone a ‘power he knows not’ – Hermione was much smarter. He was just an average boy wizard. Perhaps he should just let Voldemort kill him the next time he tried.

“Harry,” Sherlock’s deep voice shook Harry out of his depressing thoughts.

“Perhaps Albus was right. He is too young for this knowledge,” Severus muttered.

Sherlock shook his head. “I have met Harry only recently, but I know for certain that he is much stronger than you give him credit for. He appreciates the truth.”

Harry nodded weakly.

“We will get you through this, Harry, I promise,” Emrys told him, eyes flashing gold.

“Let us look at this logically,” Sherlock said. “Voldemort, at present, does not have a corporeal form, yes? He told Harry so when he tried to steal the philosopher’s stone.”

Severus nodded.

“Then Harry found a diary which contained the essence of Voldemort, but was unaware of his present state beyond what the girl had written in it.”

Severus nodded again.

The Holmes exchanged a dark look.

“This can only mean one thing,” Mycroft said, rubbing his forehead as if to stave off a headache. “Voldemort split his soul – not once, but multiple times. If I were to guess, I would say seven – it is the most powerful magical number.”

“So we find these objects and destroy the embedded piece of his soul. As soon as the last soul-vessel is destroyed, Voldemort will be dead for good,” Sherlock said.

Severus nodded. “Albus thinks so, too. However, he also believes that for the Dark Lord to be finally destroyed, he must be in mortal form…and we must, at some point of time, allow him to regain his body.”

“ _Albus_ has gone senile in his old age,” Sherlock snapped. “Why would we want him to regain his powers when we can get rid of him before that?”

“Even if we find and destroy all the…horcruxes, I believe they are called, how do we kill the spirit which moves around without a body?” Severus argued.

“But he’s not without a body, is he?” Sherlock replied. “He possesses things and people. If we bind him to one, we will be able to destroy him.”

“No,” Harry said finally. “I will not let you risk yourselves. I’m the one under the prophecy, I must do it or die trying.”

“The prophecy, if you indeed want to believe in a woolly discipline like divination, does not say that you have to do it yourself,” Sherlock retorted. “We will ensure that you win. You are an honorary Holmes now, after all, and a Holmes will always win in the end.”

Harry swallowed with great difficulty. A thought suddenly struck him.

“How do you split your soul?” he asked Mycroft.

“I believe you have to kill with extreme prejudice,” Mycroft said.

“Dumbledore said that I can speak Parseltongue because Voldemort can, and my wand has the same phoenix’s tail-feather as Voldemort…so, when Voldemort tried to kill me, what if he left a part of his soul in _me_?”

The Holmes brothers looked unsurprised and Severus flinched – confirming Harry’s worst fears. The Headmaster knew it, too, then. He _had_ been raising Harry so that he could die at the right moment.

“Don’t worry, Harry,” Emrys said softly. “I am perfectly capable of removing an unwanted soul-fragment from a living person.”

Harry smiled weakly.

Sherlock levelled his best I-can-see-into-your-soul gaze at Severus. “You were a Death Eater. You will know the likely candidates to hold the soul-vessels. A diary was given to Malfoy. Who else? And what else?”

Severus racked his brains. “Bellatrix Lestrange _must_ have something; she was his favourite. It is possible that Regulus Black had another and tried to destroy it – the Dark Lord killed him for it. There may be one hidden at Hogwarts…I know for a fact that the Dark Lord wanted to teach Defence Against the Dark Arts and cursed the position when Dumbledore refused to give it to him. It’s why no one lasts at the job for more than a year. Nagini, his pet snake, might be one – she was always much too large and vicious to be an ordinary snake. With the diary and Harry, it makes six. I have no idea of the last.”

“Then let’s start with the ones we know,” Emrys said.

Sherlock looked thoughtful. “He was obsessed with blood purity and claimed to be the heir of Slytherin. I am certain we will find something if we look into his history.” He looked at Harry. “We will do this, Harry. I promise.”

“One more question, Professor,” Emrys said. “What does Albus think of the power he knows not?”

Severus snorted. “Love.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “I’m supposed to _love_ Voldemort to death?”

The adults laughed.

Mycroft turned to Severus. “Will you be able to keep this discussion from Albus or would you prefer to forget?”

Severus sighed. “Much as I would like to say yes, I fear _Obliviate_ is a better course of action.”

Emrys stepped forward. “I’ll do it.”

Severus looked surprised. “Wouldn’t Lord Holmes be a better choice?”

Mycroft laughed. “Emrys is the incarnation of magic, Professor.”

Black eyes widened in shock. “Who are you?” he whispered.

“Merlin,” Emrys replied and his eyes flashed gold.

Severus knew no more.

XXX

Mycroft, Sherlock and Emrys made a formidable team. They didn’t involve John as he was busy with his wife’s impending delivery, but Sirius and Remus were immediately roped in. Moriarty was all but forgotten in the hunt for horcruxes.

Emrys had removed Voldemort’s soul from Harry as soon as Severus left. Harry, to his surprise, found that he was not only unharmed, but retained his knowledge of Parseltongue. The next thing they found, thanks to Kreacher, was the Slytherin locket. Emrys brought Excalibur to Harry and let him wield it, much to his delight. The Hufflepuff Cup was found in Bellatrix’s vault, thanks to Mycroft’s Azkaban visit to interrogate the madwoman – Harry and Emrys ended up freeing the Gringotts dragon in the process. Sherlock traced Riddle’s family and found the Slytherin ring. Sirius and Remus visited Hogwarts on the pretext of requesting Dumbledore to make Sirius the substitute for Remus’ around full moon (a request Dumbledore accepted immediately, sensing, perhaps, that he would need to get into Harry’s good books again) and returned with Ravenclaw’s diadem. Harry destroyed each horcrux with great relish. The snake and Voldemort himself proved difficult to trace, however, and it was time for Harry to meet his friend and go off to Hogwarts.

XXX

John’s daughter, Emma Rose, was born two days before Harry was scheduled to leave. Sherlock was named godfather and Harry was roped in to ensure that Sherlock took his role seriously.

“Don’t worry, John,” Harry reassured the doctor. “Sherlock is the best guardian a child can possibly have. Besides, it’s a package deal – Mycroft and Emrys tag along, too. Emma will be the best-protected baby in Britain.”

John smiled and hugged the boy. “Just like you,” he said. “You are backed by the combined power of the three men who can take over the world in a week if they choose to do so. I am very glad you stepped into our lives, Harry. I worry less for Sherlock now.”

Harry was rendered speechless.

XXX

Things were fine until September 1. Cornelius Fudge, in an attempt to showcase his competence, turned the Dementors loose to hunt for Pettigrew.

Harry’s new guardians had taken great care to keep him away from Dementors during Sirius’ trial. Unfortunately, no Holmes was aboard the Hogwarts Express when the Dementors struck. Fortunately, Remus and Sirius were. But Harry had already experienced his first encounter with the foul creatures by the time Sirius’ wolfhound patronus turned up to keep him safe.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One dialogue is slightly changed from the original - found an error that would conflict with later chapters. no change/bearing on the plot/characters, though.


	6. The Wrath of Holmes

 

Mycroft Holmes excused himself from his meeting with the Arabian Minister at a signal from Anthea.

“What happened?” he asked.

“Dr Watson wants to speak to you urgently, Sir. It’s about your brother and his ward.”

Mycroft was instantly alert. “Let him in.”

John hurried in as soon as the door opened and Anthea withdrew hastily.

“The Hogwarts Express was attacked by Dementors. They got to Harry,” John said in a low voice. “Sirius and Remus got to him before they could do too much damage, but Harry passed out, and it took them nearly an hour to revive him. Sherlock has gone off to Hogwarts, and Emrys has gone off God-knows-where to recall the Dementors.”

Mycroft was white with anger. Then he smiled dangerously. John took a step back. An angry Mycroft was a lot scarier than an angry Sherlock…or even an angry Emrys. Mycroft’s formidable intelligence, once antagonised, obliterated his enemies. Emrys might be the most powerful sorcerer and Sherlock might be the best-known hero, but when someone hurt his family, Mycroft was the most dangerous Holmes.

“I’d like to help if I can,” John offered.

“Thank you, Dr Watson. Your assistance would be invaluable.”

John smiled to himself as he climbed into Mycroft’s fireplace. The wizarding world would soon know that Harry Potter was not to be messed with.

XXX

Sherlock Holmes strode through the winding corridors of Hogwarts and burst into the Hospital Wing. His ward sat on a chair, staring at the floor listlessly. A bar of chocolate was loosely held in his hand. Sirius and Remus sat next to him, looking worried.

“Aren’t teachers supposed to be at the Great Hall?” Sherlock asked them.

Startled, Harry looked up at his new guardian. “Sherlock?” he asked confusedly. “What are you doing here?”

“Checking up on you, of course,” Sherlock replied. He arched an eyebrow at the Marauders, who nodded, hugged Harry and left.

Sherlock scanned Harry quickly and urged him to finish the chocolate. Harry did so meekly, and looked marginally better when Sherlock cleaned his sticky fingers with a snap.

“If I can’t even stop one Dementor, how will I ever defeat Voldemort?” Harry said in a small voice, as if holding back tears. “I heard my parents, and even now, I keep wanting to hear them.” He looked up at the detective beseechingly. “What do I do?”

“You are not weak, Harry,” Sherlock said sharply. “Don’t underestimate yourself.”

“That’s what Remus said, too. He explained what a Dementor is,” Harry told him. “To think Sirius had to live with _that_ for twelve years…!” The boy sniffed and Sherlock awkwardly patted his back.

“But Sirius is here now - for you, Harry,” Sherlock said gently. “We all are.”

Harry gave him a watery smile. “I’m all right, Sherlock. Don’t worry. I don’t want to interrupt your cases or your experiments.”

“You take priority,” Sherlock said sharply. “Never forget that.” He smiled – the one John called his psycho-smile. He extended his hand. “Come along, Harry.”

XXX

Emrys stood on Azkaban island, his body glowing with an eerie greenish-white light and his eyes flashing gold.

The Dementors, even the ones Fudge had sent to the Hogwarts Express and Hogwarts, cowered before his rage. A few had tried to get close to him, but they had been incinerated with a single strike of Emrys’ staff. Immediately, the remaining Dementors had realised Emrys could destroy them in the blink of an eye.

“You do not touch my nephew, Harry Potter, do you understand?” Emrys boomed. “You are not to come within one hundred feet of the boy.”

If the Dementors could nod, they would have.

“You will stay in Azkaban and guard the prisoners. If I ever see you harming – or attempting to harm an innocent magical person, I will wipe out your entire race,” Emrys ordered.

The Dementors meekly returned to their posts.

Emrys smiled. His job was done.

XXX

Cornelius Fudge was sweating profusely. Mycroft Holmes stood before him, regarding him as if he were a particularly annoying insect. John resisted the urge to grin and leaned against the wall, content to watch a Holmes perform.

“Need I repeat myself, Cornelius?” Mycroft asked silkily.

“Look here, Mycroft – you may be Lord Holmes, but you can’t just walk into my office and demand my resignation!” the red-faced Minister for Magic burst out.

“Idiocy has only limited uses, my dear Cornelius, and I am afraid yours has run out.”

“Are you threatening me?”  Fudge turned redder.

“I do not indulge in such juvenile behaviour,” Mycroft said calmly.

“And if I refuse to resign?” Fudge asked.

Mycroft’s eyes flashed a brilliant blue and he smiled. “Do you really want me to answer that question, Cornelius?”

Fudge stepped back, trembling with fear and fury. “I just wanted to catch Pettigrew!” he cried.

Mycroft pursed his lips. “Tell me, Cornelius, how does terrorising the students of Britain’s only magical school assist in that agenda?”

“He could have gone back to the Weasley boy! He lived with the boy for years!”

Mycroft smiled tightly. “Yes, it makes perfect sense, _Minister_. A fugitive would run back to the one place where the two wizards who know both his forms would be in charge.”

“It made sense when Dolores explained,” Fudge mumbled.

Mycroft pricked his ears. “This would be Dolores Umbridge, yes?”

Fudge sighed and nodded. “I was only trying to help,” he pleaded.

Mycroft’s eyes flashed blue again.

Fudge’s shoulders slumped. He could not afford to go against Mycroft Holmes. He wrote out his resignation letter and signed it.

Mycroft smiled. His job was done.

XXX

Sherlock took Harry’s hand as they stood before the doors of the Great Hall. He grinned at the boy.

“Ready, Harry?”

Harry, who looked much better now, smiled up at his guardian.

Sherlock’s eyes flashed silver and the doors opened. All eyes in the Great Hall turned to them and silence fell.

“Headmaster Dumbledore,” Sherlock called, his baritone almost a purr. “I would not have expected you to condone placing your students in mortal peril.”

“Hardly mortal peril, Mr Holmes,” Dumbledore replied calmly. “Unfortunately, the Minister believes that Pettigrew might approach the school and hopes to apprehend him. Nonetheless, I made it clear to Cornelius that the Dementors should not harm any of my students. I shall speak to him about the Hogwarts Express incident. Meanwhile, as I just warned the students, it would be best to stay out of the way of the Dementors here at Hogwarts.” He glanced at Harry and his eyes twinkled. “How are you feeling, my boy?”

“A bit peaky, Professor,” Harry declared.

“Naturally,” Sherlock said, drawing Harry close. “It is not easy for a child to be well when he has to watch Voldemort murdering his parents again.”

There was a collective gasp from students and teachers alike. Harry flushed, but Sherlock squeezed his shoulders reassuringly.

“Surely it cannot be that the great Albus Dumbledore did not anticipate Harry’s reaction to a Dementor,” Sherlock continued smoothly. “In which case, it seems to me that you have been grossly negligent in your duties towards my ward.”

Dumbledore’s face hardened. “I am not pleased with the Dementors’ conduct, either, Mr Holmes. Unfortunately, a Headmaster cannot overrule the direct orders of the Minister for Magic, and the Dementors are notoriously difficult to control.”

“So you permit these uncontrolled, vicious creatures to attack your students just because the Minister said so? Why were the parents and guardians of the students not warned of this? Even if the school could not, at least _we_ would have taken measures to protect our children.”

“What measures?” Fred – or George – Weasley asked loudly.

Sherlock’s eyes flashed silver again and a swarm of Patronus bees swirled around Harry. “The Patronus Charm repels Dementors,” Sherlock announced. “Some of you might already know of this – and those who do not might want to consult your new Defence against the Dark Arts professors; both of them are proficient in this charm and saved Harry today. The incantation is _expecto patronum_ and it is powered by a happy memory. The happier the memory, the more powerful the patronus.”

“Mr Holmes, the Patronus Charm is a difficult spell, and an off-site, corporeal patronus is nearly impossible to sustain over a long period of time,” Professor Flitwick spoke up.

“You’re right, of course, Filius,” Remus said mildly. “But if the parents, or even Sirius and I, had been informed in advance, we could have patrolled the train and handed out chocolates as a preventive measure.”

Dumbledore held up a hand. “I apologise, Mr Holmes, for the inconvenience and I appreciate your concern for young Harry. Rest assured, we will ensure all our students have a plentiful supply of chocolate at all times, and the teachers will take turns forming a Patronus perimeter around the castle as long as the Dementors are here.”

“Excellent,” Sherlock said. “Thank you, Headmaster. I hope you would not mind if I left a residual patronus with my child?” The glowing bees swirled happily around Harry.

“How will you maintain it from London?” Professor Flitwick asked.

“My brother is more than capable of such a feat, Professor,” came Emrys’ voice, followed by the man himself. He was accompanied by two Dementors. In an instant, all teachers had drawn their wands.

“Oh, do put down your wands,” Sherlock snapped. “Isn’t it evident that Emrys has them under control?”

“Indeed,” Emrys said. “You will be glad to hear, Headmaster, that the Dementors will not hover close to your students. They are all back at Azakaban. These two are just here to confirm the same.” The Dementors bobbed, as if in acquiescence.

“But the Ministry…” Dumbledore began. He was interrupted by the appearance of Mycroft, with John at his heels.

“The Ministry order has been rescinded, Albus,” Mycroft informed him. “The Ministry will not send any Dementors out of Azkaban without Wizengamot approval in the future, and, as Emrys said, the Dementors themselves will not venture near innocents.”

Dumbledore smiled, but his eyes missed their twinkle. “Glad tidings indeed, Mycroft, my friend. I am glad Cornelius had agreed to withdraw the Dementors.”

Mycroft smirked. “Cornelius has resigned, and Kingsley will be the interim minister until the elections. Sherlock and John are taking over the Pettigrew case, with assistance from the Auror Department and Scotland Yard.”

Whispers broke out immediately. Emrys and Mycroft came up to stand on either side of Sherlock. John drew Harry aside.

“Magnificent, aren’t they?” John whispered in Harry’s ear.

Harry stared at the three Holmes brothers standing tall and proud, eyes flashing with powerful magic. They could be easily mistaken for gods. And they were here for him. A strange mix of emotions bubbled up inside him.

Dumbledore raised his hands. Silence fell.

“Thank you for the news, Mycroft. I am sure our owls will be flying out right away! Please do join us for dinner, and perhaps a coffee later in my chambers?”

“Thank you, Albus,” Mycroft said. “We would be delighted.”

Emrys sent away the Dementors. Harry and John made their way to the Gryffindor table, Sherlock’s bees buzzing happily around them. The Holmes brothers exchanged a quick look and followed the Gryffindors.

Harry introduced the adults to his friends, and as predicted, Hermione jumped at the chance to speak to Sherlock. Sherlock watched Harry laugh and eat with his friends, his misery forgotten.

Sherlock smiled. His job was done.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is probably my favourite chapter in what I have written so far. I love the three Holmes brothers and how cool they are. Probably sounds strange - me talking of what I wrote myself...but well, it was a few years ago, and when I read the whole thing again to continue the story, this was my favourite.


	7. A Mighty Wizard

 

Mycroft, Sherlock, Emrys and John entered Dumbledore’s chamber after dinner. Minerva McGonagall, Severus Snape and Albus Dumbledore waited for them. In a few minutes, they were joined by Sirius, Remus and Harry.

Fawkes landed on Emrys’ shoulder and trilled happily. Emrys spoke to the phoenix in a low voice.

“I am pleased that the Dementors are gone, Mycroft, but do you not think the entire exercise was a little high-handed? Cornelius made a mistake. Was it really necessary to remove him?” Dumbledore asked, looking straight at Mycroft.

“He resigned,” Mycroft replied casually.

“We both know he would never resign of his own accord.”

“You are free to speak to him, Albus.”

Dumbledore sighed. “Really, Mycroft, it was a minor matter. We know it is essential to capture Peter Pettigrew.”

Mycroft smiled dangerously. “You really need to take better care of your students, Albus. If Harry is to be in mortal peril on a regular basis while at school, I am sure Sherlock would prefer to transfer him to Beauxbatons.”

“I doubt if Harry would wish to leave his friends,” Dumbledore said. There was a triumphant look in his eyes.

Mycroft’s smile grew wider. “Why don’t we ask _my_ _nephew_ himself? What do you think, Harry?”

Harry shrugged. “I’d hate to leave my friends…but if Sherlock thinks there’s no other way, I’d shift.” The bees around Harry glowed brighter.

Dumbledore stared at Harry and Harry felt a prickling sensation in his head. Then Dumbledore went flying backwards and slammed into a wall.

“Do NOT do that,” Sherlock growled, his eyes flashing silver.

Dumbledore stood up and brushed his robes. “Apologies. I was merely attempting to ascertain if Harry was under the influence of any mind-spells.”

“So you decided to violate his mind?” John asked angrily.

“Ah, Mr Watson,” Dumbledore said. “How you have grown. Your grandmother would be proud.”

John glowered silently at the old wizard.

“Headmaster,” Emrys spoke softly but firmly. “We have no desire to disrupt your authority. However, Harry is a Holmes child now, and we will not compromise on his safety and welfare. Your mistakes in the past have cost Harry dearly, and the Holmes family will not stand by and watch him suffer anymore. Prophecy or not, Harry will not be anyone’s pawn. He will live his life for himself, and we will ensure that he can.”

Dumbledore sighed. “You cannot fight Harry’s battles for him, Mr Holmes. It will only make him weaker.”

“Harry is anything but weak,” Mycroft cut in smoothly. “You forget, Albus, that he is a child. You place responsibilities upon him which most adults would fail to shoulder, and yet he performs admirably. No, Albus – Harry is a mighty wizard, and anyone who cannot see that is a deluded fool.”

“You left an innocent baby with abominable muggles who abused him for years and nearly killed him,” Sherlock snarled. “You let a child face Voldemort and monsters by himself. You have treated Harry as nothing more than a pawn in your sick game with Voldemort. It stops now, or Hogwarts will need a new Headmaster.”

Dumbledore’s eyes narrowed. “Are you threatening me, Mr Holmes?”

Sherlock smiled his not-nice smile.

Fawkes trilled before either man could do anything. Harry stepped up to the two men and took Sherlock’s hand.

“I don’t think Professor Dumbledore intended for me to be harmed, Sherlock. He only sent me to Privet Drive for blood protection derived from my mother’s sacrifice.”

Sherlock snorted. “No, Harry, with Voldemort gone, he could have placed you anywhere and you would have been safe. He put you with your aunt because he wanted you to have a hard life – he knew she hated magic – so that when you entered the wizarding world at eleven, you would be so grateful for the reprieve that you would gladly sacrifice yourself to save it.” He glanced at Dumbledore. “Even the Iceman could not have managed such callousness. You are surprisingly ruthless for someone who pretends to care so much.”

Dumbledore looked away. “I had no choice.”

“There is always a choice, Albus,” Severus spoke up. “You taught me that.”

“The prophecy cannot be averted,” Dumbledore said sadly. “I have tried.”

“But it can be fulfilled. We can help Potter destroy He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and then he will be free,” Minerva said. “He does not have to be alone, and he certainly does not need to be in an abusive environment.”

“He carries a piece of Voldemort’s soul, Minerva,” Dumbledore said tiredly. “It latched on to him when the curse rebounded.”

Professor McGonagall gasped. “How do we remove it?”

“You don’t need to,” Mycroft said quietly. “It has already been done. Merlin himself did it. Sherlock, Emrys and I were there; we saw it.”

Dumbledore looked shocked for a moment. Then the twinkle returned to his eyes and he smiled broadly.

“Four more horcruxes have also been destroyed,” Sirius added.

Dumbledore brightened further. “Which one remains?”

“The snake,” Remus replied.

Dumbledore rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “If we track Peter Pettigrew, he is likely to lead us to Voldemort and his snake.”

The Holmes brothers rolled their eyes. Harry could hear the unspoken _obvious_.

Dumbledore sobered and turned to Harry. “I owe you more than apology, my boy,” he said softly. “I have made mistakes and caused you great suffering.”

“It’s all right, Professor,” Harry said awkwardly.

“If there’s anything I can do for you…”

A thought struck Harry. “May I borrow the Sorting Hat, Professor?”

“Of course, Harry,” Dumbledore replied and summoned the hat.

Harry looked at his new protectors expectantly. Sherlock groaned. “Really?”

The brilliant green eyes turned pleading. “Please?”

No Holmes could say no to that.

Harry handed the hat to Mycroft. The oldest Holmes brother put it on his head and a small voice spoke up.

_Ah, Mr Holmes. What an interesting mind! You affect imperturbability, but you feel deeply. You have no desire for power or riches, but you achieve so much just so you could keep your little brothers safe, and your family happy. You would be a good fit in any house, Mr Holmes, but your mind, which is the cleverest that I have seen in my life, even Rowena herself, makes me think that you are best suited for RAVENCLAW!_

The last word was said out loud. Harry grinned. Mycroft offered him a small smile and handed the battered hat to Sherlock.

_Another Holmes. Very interesting indeed. Almost as clever as your older brother, too, but you are flamboyant where he is quiet. Fiercely loyal, too. Each Founder would want you and you will do well in all houses, too. However, you are the quintessential hero at heart, Mr Holmes, and you would do best in GRYFFINDOR!_

Harry and John beamed at Sherlock. Sherlock, who’d been annoyed with the hat, couldn’t help smiling back. He handed the hat to Emrys.

_Merlin! You chose to be a Holmes! How can I sort you? You are magic herself. Oh, you want me to rate your human traits. You are a true Holmes, Emrys, so similar to your brothers. I am glad to see you happy and finally have a proper family that appreciates you…and yet you hold so many secrets, even from them. Better be SLYTHERIN!_

Everyone except Mycroft and Sherlock looked stunned.

Emrys grinned at Harry and John. “Told you,” he said.

Harry grinned back and hugged the youngest Holmes.

“All right, you’ve proved your point,” John grumbled.

“Does this mean you want me to be best friends with Malfoy?” Harry asked worriedly.

“A Malfoy ally might be useful,” Mycroft said thoughtfully.

Harry grimaced.

Emrys laughed and ruffled the boy’s hair. “Be friends with whoever you want, Harry. It doesn’t matter what house they are in. There are good people and bad people everywhere.”

“Would you have liked me better if I had been sorted into Slytherin?” Harry asked Snape.

Snape was startled. “I do not think you would even be considered for Slytherin, Potter.”

“I was nearly sorted into Slytherin. The hat put me in Gryffindor only because I begged it not to put me in Slytherin.”

Severus turned to Dumbledore. “Is this true?”

The Headmaster nodded. Severus and Minerva exchanged a stunned look.

“Why do you attach such importance to house divisions? It is ridiculous. Bravery does not preclude intelligence, loyalty does not preclude ambition. Also, people change over time. An eleven year old child can be brave, and yet grow up to be a coward at eighteen. Wasn’t Peter Pettigrew also a Gryffindor? Was he brave?” Sherlock ranted, clearly annoyed. “You have misrepresented Gryffindor to be a house of heroes and Slytherin as a house of evil purebloods, so much so that children who should have been in other houses based on their characteristics, plead with the hat to place them in Gryffindor or Slytherin based on their background. I suspect the same goes for students in Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff as well. They have been brought up to idolise a certain house, regardless of their individual characteristics, and when the hat tries to sort them, they beg, plead or argue their way out to be placed in the house they have been taught to dream of. Look at Harry and his friends. Harry begged his way out of Slytherin. Hermione begged her way out of Ravenclaw. I am sure there are many more who did the same.”

No one had a response to that.

Finally, Harry suggested tentatively, “Er…choice matters?”

“Choice would matter when it is an informed choice, Harry,” Sherlock said gently. “The choices made here are based on prejudices imbibed by a child through his surroundings. If you had grown up with us, if you had not been warned off Slytherin as an evil house – would you have argued with the hat when it attempted to place you in Slytherin?”

Harry thought for a moment. “Probably not.”

John stared at Sherlock. “Since when do you get into ‘what if’ scenarios?”

Sherlock shrugged nonchalantly.

The bees, which had settled around Harry’s middle, suddenly woke up and swirled around him, making the boy laugh in delight. Sherlock caught his ward’s shoulders.

“Don’t worry if you think you don’t belong, Harry,” he said quietly. “If bravery defines Gryffindor, know that you are the bravest child I have ever seen. If loyalty defines Hufflepuff, you have surprised me with your fierce loyalty in the face of adversity. If intelligence defines Ravenclaw, you are not an idiot. If power defines Slytherin, you are certainly a powerful magical child.”

“Not an idiot?” Harry echoed.

John laughed. “That’s the highest compliment Sherlock is capable of, Harry. Be proud.” He turned to the detective. “Would it really kill you to admit you think Harry is clever?”

Sherlock stuck a haughty pose. “I don’t think Harry is clever, John.” Harry’s shoulders slumped. Sherlock continued smoothly. “I _know_ he is.”

“It must be a special day, indeed, brother dear, to wring such compliments from you,” Mycroft remarked.

“Or Harry must be an extraordinarily mighty wizard to do so,” Emrys said, smiling.

“A mighty wizard indeed,” Dumbledore muttered and turned to Harry. “Off to bed with you, young man.”

“I’ll take Potter to the tower,” Minerva volunteered and led Harry away. Sherlock’s bees went with him.

“There is no need for you to keep up a patronus with Harry anymore,” Severus told Sherlock. “The Dementors are gone.”

Sherlock shook his head.

“My brother is very protective of his child,” Emrys said. “It is also helpful for Harry. We don’t want him to brood or fall into depression. He has suffered much lately.”

“It will be very taxing to keep up the patronus from London,” Remus said worriedly. “Sirius and I can take turns, Sherlock.”

Sherlock shook his head. “It’s fine.”

John looked at Mycroft. “Sherlock will be ok?”

Mycroft smiled. “John, this is simple magic for my brother.”

“How are you three so powerful?” Severus demanded. “We all know how difficult it is to sustain a patronus long-term, let alone at a significant distance.”

“They are direct descendants of Vernet and Merlin,” John said quietly. “And this information cannot leave this room.”

Dumbledore’s eyes widened in shock. Then he smiled. “I cannot tell you how pleased I am that you found Harry and took him in. Lord Voldemort does not stand a chance.”

 


	8. Trouble in Paradise

 

“Don’t go off on your own, Sherlock,” Greg Lestrade warned. “These men are armed and dangerous.”

Sherlock nodded absently, barely listening to the Detective Inspector.

“Please, Sherlock. Listen to me for once.”

Sherlock waved him off.

Lestrade frowned, worried about his consulting detective. Sherlock had been _off_ for some time now. Perhaps he missed his ward and his nice brother – or John. Emrys had left soon after Harry departed for his boarding school, and John was really busy with his new-born. The DI resolved to keep a close eye on Sherlock, at least till the top guns of this drug-trafficking ring were caught. Greg sighed tiredly. The body count was getting higher every week and they were not even close to the culprits.

XXX

Sherlock had tracked down one of the assassins, and discreetly followed him to an abandoned building in Mile End. He paused, debating whether to call for back-up or proceed alone. They needed to capture all three assassins as well as the bosses to break up the ring successfully. He decided to take stock of the situation himself first.

Sherlock entered the building.

“Ah, the famous Mr Holmes,” came an oily voice. “We have been waiting for you.”

Sherlock realised he had walked into a trap. He looked around and noted that everyone they needed to arrest was in the room. He sent a quick text to Lestrade and pocketed his phone. He just needed to hold them off now until the police arrived.

At the other end of London, Greg Lestrade cursed and marshalled his troops, hoping they would reach Sherlock before the git got himself killed.

Meanwhile, Sherlock was being searched for weapons by two hulks. They jostled him roughly, unable to believe that he carried none.

The owner of the oily voice, who Sherlock had correctly deduced to be the top boss, laughed.

“Not very clever, Mr Holmes, walking into a trap unarmed.”

Sherlock smiled his most obnoxious smile. “I don’t _need_ weapons for the likes of you.”

Hulk #1 slapped him hard enough to split his lip. Sherlock simply gave him a bloody smile.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Sherlock said.

Hulk #1 punched him again. Sherlock fell to the floor. Oily Voice held up a hand. Hulk #1 retreated grumpily.

“You are hardly in a position to make threats, Mr Holmes,” Oily Voice remarked. “Though I do wonder why you wandered into our parlour by yourself. Perhaps you wished to sample the goods?”

Sherlock thrust a hand into his pocket and sent another text to Lestrade. _Hurry._

“Or perhaps you thought you would lead Scotland Yard to us,” Oily Voice continued.

Sherlock held his tongue (and his magic) with great difficulty.

“Tie him up,” Oily Voice ordered. “We’re leaving. And throw his phone out; I’m sure the police will track it.”

Time to fight back, Sherlock decided. He could not hope to win a 1:40 fight, but at least he could delay them long enough for Lestrade to get here.

However, Oily Voice was smarter than Sherlock had anticipated. A blow landed at the back of his head and Sherlock knew no more.

XXX

Harry was in Charms class when the bees disappeared. Hermione, sitting next to him, gasped. Ron, who sat behind him, asked, “Oi, mate, where’d your bees go?”

Harry shrugged, not knowing the answer himself. Perhaps Sherlock had decided that he was safe enough not to need the bees? Or could it be that Sherlock was in trouble?

Professor Flitwick, sensing a commotion, hurried to their desk. He noticed the absence of Sherlock’s bees immediately.

“Did they fly away or fade out?” he asked.

“Faded, I guess,” Harry replied. “What does it mean, Professor?”

The expression on the tiny Professor’s face froze Harry’s heart. He ran out of the classroom. He had to get to Sirius.

XXX

Sherlock was dumped unceremoniously in the boot of a car.

“I hope to God you haven’t killed him,” Oily Voice snapped at Hulk #1. “Boss won’t be pleased.”

XXX

Lestrade and his team reached the abandoned building only to find it empty. Sherlock’s phone, smeared with blood, sat on the floor. Lestrade cursed and followed the bloody trail till the garage. The goons were gone, and they had Sherlock.

Lestrade cursed again. Instructing his team to collect descriptions, CCTV footage or any other information on the vehicles, he texted John and Mycroft.

XXX

Anthea slipped into the conference hall and went straight to Mycroft.

“Dragon Slayer has been abducted, Sir,” she said quietly.

Mycroft excused himself and followed her out of the room. “Are you tracking his subcutaneous chip?”

“Yes, Sir. They are on the move. We are transmitting the location straight to DI Lestrade.”

“Good. Vitals?”

Anthea hesitated. “He appears to be unconscious, Sir.”

“Update me as soon as you have the final location. Get a chopper and a hit team ready for me.”

Anthea hurried away. Mycroft scribbled a note and snapped his fingers, his eyes flashing a brilliant blue. Then he hurried back to the conference room. He needed to wrap it up immediately.

XXX

John Watson sighed as his phone pinged. His daughter bawled in his lap as he reached out and plucked the phone from the table. It was a message from Lestrade.

_Sherlock kidnapped by drug traffickers. Did he leave any clues with you at all?_

John went cold. He had not even known that Sherlock was chasing drug traffickers. Guiltily, he remembered that Sherlock had texted him the day before asking if he wanted to join in on a case, and John had refused because Emma Rose had not been keeping well and Mary was too tired to handle a cantankerous infant by herself. He should not have left Sherlock alone.

_Please God, keep him safe,_ John prayed as he replied to Lestrade in the negative.

Sherlock’s voice sounded in his head – _I told you, John. You won’t need me when you have a real baby._

John swallowed the lump in his throat and texted both Mycroft and Lestrade, asking what he could do to help. There was no reply.

XXX

A piece of paper materialised in Harry’s hand as he burst into Sirius’ office. He opened it quickly.

_Sherlock abducted. We are tracking him. Do not worry. – M_

Harry felt marginally better.

“Harry?” Sirius looked up from his desk at his godson, who was pale and shaking. “What happened?”

“The bees disappeared.”

Sirius sobered immediately, gestured for him to take a seat and passed him a cup of tea. Harry pushed Mycroft’s note towards his godfather.

“He’ll be fine, Harry,” Sirius told him. “These Holmes are practically indestructible.”

Harry shook his head. “If he’s been taken by muggles, he won’t use magic against them, even to protect himself.”

“He doesn’t need magic to whip someone’s arse, does he?” Sirius pointed out, grinning.

Harry smiled slightly, remembering Sherlock taking down a man who had attempted to mug them during one of their shopping trips. Sherlock was hardly a swooning damsel. But that didn’t really mean that he would always be safe, did it? Harry bit his lip.

“I’m worried, Sirius,” he said in a small voice.

“I know, cub, I know.” Sirius thought for a moment. “How about we go to London to visit Sherlock once Mycroft has dragged him back home and listen to him rant at us for being sentimental idiots?”

XXX

Oily Voice and his goons had reached their destination. They stood before their boss, who raged at the sight of the trussed-up unconscious detective.

“Didn’t I specifically tell you not to harm him? He’s MINE! No one touches him but ME!”

“Sorry, Sir,” Hulk #1 said, pleading. “I meant ‘im no ‘arm.”

“He’s barely alive, you idiot,” Oily Voice snapped. “I told you to tie him up, not knock him out.”

“Get a doctor,” the boss ordered. “In fact, I want a very particular doctor.”

“But Sir…” Oily Voice began, only to be quelled by the deranged look the boss shot him. “Yes, Sir.” He sent two of his goons out.

Sherlock was untied and deposited on a bed. The boss pulled up a chair. He caressed the detective’s cheek with his fingers.

“You won’t die such a boring death, would you, Sherlock? You CAN’T! I have so many plans for you…”

Oily Voice shrunk back. The boss was insane.

XXX

Mycroft ran into Anthea just as he finished the meeting and stepped out. Without a word, she handed him a pair of guns and led him to the helicopter on the roof.

XXX

“They’ve stopped. Go, go, go!” Lestrade shouted as soon as the signal stopped moving. “Hold on, Sherlock,” he whispered under his breath.

XXX

John wondered if he should call Mycroft or Lestrade when his doorbell rang. He handed over Emma to Mary and ran to the door.

He was immediately grabbed and taken away. He barely had the time to hit the call button and leave the line open.

XXX

“Lucky you live close by, Johnny Boy.”

John could not believe his eyes. Or his ears. It was impossible. There is no way this man could be alive. Sherlock said so. _Mycroft_ said so.

“No, no, no,” he whispered.

“Yes, yes, yes,” the man sang.

“You’re dead. You shot yourself.”

“Appearances can be deceiving, Johnny Boy,” Jim Moriarty spoke in a sing-song voice. “After all, Sherlock jumped off the roof and lived, too.”

“So both of you faked suicide at each other? How romantic,” John snapped.

Moriarty smiled. “Sherlock’s hurt. Won’t you care for him? I need you to bring him back for me.”

“What did you do to him?” John snarled.

Moriarty sighed tragically. “One of the minions hit him too hard.”

John shrugged off the hands restraining him and made a beeline for the bed in the corner. Sherlock lay unnaturally still, his pale complexion drained of any colour, in sharp contrast to the rapidly growing dark red pool of blood around his head. He examined his friend gingerly.

“He needs a hospital,” John told Moriarty. “Please, let me take him. He’s of no use to you if he’s dead, is he?” John pleaded, hoping the deranged psychopath’s obsession with Sherlock might give him a way out.

“NO!” Moriarty shouted. “He can only die when I kill him! Bring him back! He’s MINE!”

The consulting criminal had clearly lost whatever little marbles he’d had left the last they’d met, John decided.

“Please, Jim,” John begged. “He needs intensive care. I don’t have the tools I need here.”

Fortunately, Mycroft and Lestrade chose that moment to burst in with their units. Moriarty shrieked and John punched him in the face with all his might. Two MI6 agents picked him up.

Mycroft glanced at John. “He needs urgent medical attention,” John said.

Mycroft tossed a gun at John and picked up his brother as if he weighed nothing. “Come with me, John,” he said quietly. “There’s an air ambulance on the roof. Cover us.”

John ran after him.

XXX

Sherlock woke up to sight of the British Government slumped tiredly on the chair next to his bed. He was a hospital again. Ugh.

“What are you doing here?” he croaked, wincing at the awful sound emanating from his throat.

Exhaustion lined Mycroft’s face. “Please refrain from indulging in such reckless behaviour in the future, brother dear,” he said, his voice lacking its usual sarcasm. He summarised the events briefly.

“It can’t be,” Sherlock whispered. “You know it can’t be him, Mycroft. I saw him die. You took the body yourself.”

“I am afraid I have no answer for you, Sherlock.”

The door opened and Harry peeked in. “Is he any better, Uncle Mycroft?” he asked softly.

Mycroft smiled at the title. Ever since Sirius had turned up with Harry at the hospital, the boy had been calling him uncle. It pleased him.

“Come in and see for yourself, Harry,” Mycroft said.

Sherlock shot an accusatory look at his brother.

“Harry was worried, Sherlock,” Mycroft said quietly. “The bees disappeared when you were knocked out.”

Harry approached his guardian slowly as Mycroft left the room. Then he flung himself at the prone detective and hugged him tearfully.

“I’m sorry,” Harry said, after a few awkward moments of Sherlock trying to pat the child.

“What?” Sherlock blurted out, shocked.

“I know you hate sentimental displays,” Harry muttered. “But the bees disappeared and Flitwick looked so sad and I didn’t know what happened to you and Uncle Mycroft said that he’ll get you back but I was still worried and I didn’t want to lose a father again and Sirius said that we can visit you and you wouldn’t wake up and I…”

“Harry,” Sherlock called gently and Harry stopped rambling.

“Sorry,” he said again.

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Sherlock said firmly. “And while I am very glad to see you again, I do not want you to worry. I will be fine.”

Harry nodded tearfully. “Everyone was worried,” he said quietly.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. That made Harry smile.

“You should rest now,” Harry said. “Do you want to meet anyone else? Greg and Molly are outside. I think he’s still cursing, and she’s trying to calm him down. Emrys is in Cardiff, but he will be back tonight, he said. John went home – Emma Rose is not well – but he said he’ll drop in later and punch you for being an idiot.”

Sherlock laughed. Harry patted his arm and left. It was only then that Sherlock realised that Harry, in his rant, had referred to him as a _father_. He was still mulling over that when Lestrade and Molly came in.

“You’ve got to stop taking stupid risks,” Molly said. “You’ve got a child to look after now.”

Sherlock could only nod.

“Don’t do that ever again, you bastard,” Lestrade told him. “You nearly gave me a heart attack.”

“Did you get them all?” Sherlock asked.

Lestrade nodded. “Every single one. Except Moriarty. MI6 took him away. How can he be alive, Sherlock?”

“I don’t know. I don’t like not knowing.”

“He could be a fake,” Molly said.

“I don’t know. I never saw him.”

“John was spooked – said he was crazier than before,” Lestrade said. “Your brother’s got people buzzing around. Get well soon, you git. I need my consulting detective back.”

“Of course you do.”

Lestrade grinned at Sherlock’s response and Sherlock rolled his eyes.

XXX

Sherlock was asleep when Emrys came in at night. Mycroft was still there, keeping an eye on his troublesome brother.

Emrys embraced his oldest brother. “Stop fussing, Myc,” he said quietly. “You’ll worry yourself into an early grave.”

Mycroft laughed humourlessly. “Between him and you – and now young Harry as well, it is a miracle that I have not.”

“He is going to be fine, isn’t he?”

“Yes.”

“What happened?”

Mycroft told him. Emrys frowned and then his expression darkened. The two brothers regarded each other for several minutes, an unspoken conversation taking place in typical Holmesian fashion.

“It can’t be anything else,” Emrys said finally.

Mycroft’s shoulders slumped. “I was hoping you would tell me otherwise, baby brother. If we are right, then it started when Sherlock was exiled…much before we met Harry…which means that Harry’s traumatic experience could not have been a coincidence. Someone wanted us to be involved in this war. The question is, who? And why?”

Emrys laid a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “I know it’s a nightmare, Myc, but we’ll get through it. I promise.”


	9. Come into my Parlour…

“Necromancy?” Sherlock asked. He stared hard at his younger brother. “I was under the impression that there were no necromancers left…and Moriarty is not a wizard.”

Emrys sighed. “No, Moriarty isn’t. He is undead. Someone brought him back.”

“Who?”

Emrys shrugged.

“There are rumours. Lord Voldemort might have been a necromancer,” Mycroft said quietly. “It remains unverified. There is no record of him having resurrected anyone.”

“And we have the resurrection stone anyway,” Emrys said.

“Moriarty was alive enough to frighten John,” Sherlock told his brothers. “John isn’t easy to scare.”

“I know, Sherlock,” Mycroft said.

“It is unlikely Voldemort would be a highly skilled necromancer without showing off,” Sherlock said. “Doesn’t fit his MO.”

Mycroft nodded. "I do agree with you, Sherlock. However, there is a possibility he may have hidden this particular skill. Even amidst Dark Wizards, necromancy is taboo." He sighed. "For now, perhaps we should consider other possibilities. Process of elimination."

“So, who else is a powerful necromancer?” Sherlock asked.

“I have seen only one person pull off something like this,” Emrys said. “But it is impossible.” He slumped. “It would mean my oldest and most powerful enemy has come back to life.”

“You are not alone, Emrys,” Mycroft said softly.

Emrys shook his head, refusing to look at his brothers. “I can’t drag you two into this mess.”

“You are not. We are already in it,” Sherlock snapped. “Stop being a self-sacrificing idiot, Emrys; we’re not abandoning you.”

Emrys remained silent, but the unshed tears in his eyes spoke of his determination to carry on alone. It was his destiny, after all.

XXX

On the eve of Halloween, Sherlock Holmes wondered what his life had come to as he rocked his goddaughter to sleep. He, the self-proclaimed sociopath, the world’s only consulting detective, a Vernet wizard – he was on babysitting duty. Never, in a thousand years, would he have imagined this. He stared at the infant and Emma Rose Watson beamed up at her godfather. It had come as a great surprise to everyone, including Sherlock himself, that John’s daughter had taken a great liking to the detective. Where John and Mary couldn’t calm her down, a simple “Hello, Little Bee” in Sherlock’s rumbling baritone would set her giggling happily. John often complained that his daughter loved Sherlock more than her own father. Mary rolled her eyes and said the affinity for Sherlock was clearly genetic.

And so it happened that Sherlock was on babysitting duty while John was abroad for a conference and Mary was off running errands. The detective remained intentionally unaware of the nature of Mary’s “errands”. John had chosen Mary. Sherlock would not interfere.

The detective’s phone trilled. It was Lestrade.

“Where’s John?” Lestrade demanded without preamble.

“In Vienna, I believe,” Sherlock replied. “Why?”

Lestrade cursed. “An assassin was apprehended and shot dead during an attempt to murder the visiting Indian Prime Minister,” the policeman said. “It was Mary, Sherlock. Did you have any idea?”

Sherlock drew a sharp breath. John would be devastated.

“I’ll get hold of John,” Sherlock said quietly.

“Sherlock,” Greg warned. “The gun matches the bullet dug out of you.”

“Let sleeping dogs lie, Gregory,” Sherlock said softly. “We must think of John. Can you contain the identity of the assassin?”

“MI6 and RAW are hushing it up, but I overheard a reference to Moriarty.”

Sherlock shuddered.

“Try to contact John, Sherlock. I’ll drop by as soon as I can.”

XXX

John took the next flight back to London. His face was hard and stoic as he entered 221B. Sherlock handed him a glass of Scotch.

“Emma?” John asked, his voice breaking.

“Asleep,” Sherlock replied. “Mrs Hudson is looking after her.”

John buried his face in his hands. “I should have stopped her. I should have known what she was up to behind my back,” he mumbled.

“It wasn’t your fault, John,” Sherlock said gently.

John shook his head and emptied the glass. Sherlock refilled it immediately.

“Why did she do it, Sherlock? Was this her first one after Magnussen? Did you know?” John asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Sherlock winced. “I did not know for certain,” he said finally.

“But you suspected,” John accused.

Sherlock nodded.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” John’s voice was low and dangerous.

“Because you chose her,” Sherlock replied simply.

John sprang, almost involuntarily. His fingers curled around Sherlock’s throat as he slammed the detective against the wall. Sherlock choked, but didn’t struggle. He understood John was upset. His vision blurred.

“Unhand my brother this instant, Dr Watson.” The sharp command issued by Mycroft Holmes from the doorway penetrated John’s rage. He let go of Sherlock immediately. Sherlock slid down the wall and slumped on the floor, coughing.

John fell on his knees, sobs racking his frame. Hysterical apologies to Sherlock spilled from his lips.

Sherlock looked up at his brother helplessly. Mycroft sighed. Lestrade, who had come in with Mycroft, held out a syringe to the detective. Sherlock crawled to John and stabbed him with the sedative. John keeled over immediately.

Lestrade helped Sherlock deposit the unconscious doctor on the couch. Mycroft examined Sherlock’s throat and his eyes flashed. The bruising remained, in deference to Lestrade’s presence, but the pain disappeared.

“I was expecting you sooner,” Sherlock muttered.

“I came as soon as I could, brother mine,” Mycroft said, exhaustion dripping from his voice. “Everything has been taken care of. No one will know the assassin and Mary Watson were the same person. I have also taken the liberty of arranging a funeral.”

Sherlock bowed his head. “Thank you,” he whispered.

In an uncharacteristic gesture, Mycroft embraced his brother. Sherlock buried his head in his brother’s shoulder and squeezed his eyes shut, unable to help his tears.

Lestrade looked away, cursing internally. The depth of loyalty and love Sherlock held for John…how could John not see it? How could John _bear_ to be with the woman who shot Sherlock? Lestrade knew the complete truth now. He knew why John had suddenly moved in with Sherlock when Sherlock returned from the hospital. What he didn’t understand was why John went back to that woman. Could John be so stupid that he did not see what Sherlock sacrificed for him?

Sherlock and Mycroft finally broke apart. Sherlock wiped his face surreptitiously. “You are embarrassing Lestrade, Mycroft,” Sherlock said.

Mycroft’s lips twitched. Lestrade simply pulled Sherlock into a hug. He couldn’t help it; his paternal instincts had always kicked off where the consulting detective was concerned.

“You ok?” Lestrade asked softly.

Sherlock nodded. Lestrade lifted his chin with a finger and eyed the bruises forming around his neck. “Why didn’t you fight him off?” the policeman asked.

Sherlock shrugged.

John stirred. Mycroft quickly removed the alcohol.

John sat up with a cry of “Sherlock!” Breathing heavily, the doctor looked around. His eyes finally settled on the detective and widened at the sight of his neck. The bruises were in stark contrast to the pale throat.

Sherlock made a move towards his doctor, but Lestrade caught his arm. “No,” the policeman said firmly. “I’m not letting you near John until it is clear that he will not assault you again.”

“He is grieving, Lestrade. He didn’t intend to cause me harm,” Sherlock snapped.

“That’s not an excuse,” Greg retorted.

“Greg is right, Sherlock,” John whispered. “There is no excuse for what I did. I am sorry, and I don’t expect you to forgive me.”

Sherlock huffed in annoyance.

John glanced at Mycroft. “Was she working for Moriarty?” he asked bluntly.

Mycroft regard him impassively. “I believe so.”

John swallowed. “What happens now?”

“That depends on you, Dr Watson. At Sherlock’s request, the identity of the assassin has been kept confidential. Mary Watson could have simply died in an accident.”

John’s eyes brimmed as he turned to Sherlock. “Thank you.”

Sherlock waved away his gratitude. “You can stay here with Emma, John.”

John shook his head. “Not after what I just did, Sherlock. I don’t deserve your kindness, especially not now.”

“I forgive you.”

John shook his head again.

“You can crash on my couch, John,” Greg offered. “You can come back to Baker Street once you are stable. Sherlock will look after Emma, won’t you, Sherlock?”

Sherlock nodded wordlessly. Mycroft shot Lestrade a grateful look. John thanked the policeman.

“I have to arrange the funeral,” John whispered.

“Mycroft has already done that, John,” Sherlock said gently.

John whispered a thank you.

XXX

Mary’s funeral was well-attended. John put up a brave and stoic front, refusing to break down in public. Sherlock stood silently by his side, holding Emma Rose in his arms. Lestrade, Emrys and Harry stood next to them.

When it was over, Sherlock quietly led John to Baker Street and handed his daughter to him. Emrys drew his brother aside.

“Take Harry back to Hogwarts, Sherlock,” Emrys told him.

“But John…”

“You’ve done enough for John,” Emrys snapped. “You have duties towards others, too. Don’t forget that.”

Sherlock narrowed his eyes. “What’s wrong?”

Emrys bit his lip.

A cold fist closed around Sherlock’s heart. “What has happened, Emrys? Where is Mycroft?”

Emrys shrugged. “Does it matter to you anymore, Sherlock? Have you noticed anything at all in the past few days besides John and his daughter?”

Sherlock blinked.

“Harry lost his parents on Halloween…you didn’t remember. Mycroft has been ill…you never noticed. Your friends – Greg, Molly, Mrs Hudson, Billy – they have all been running around, trying to ease things for you and you never even saw them.”

Guilt. That was the strange sensation crawling up Sherlock’s stomach.

“What happened to Mycroft?” he asked quietly.

Emrys shrugged. “Take Harry to Hogwarts, Sherlock,” he said tiredly. “I will take you to Mycroft when you are back. And it would be nice if you spared a word to your friends who have worked tirelessly to help you in your hour of need.”

Sherlock took his brother’s advice to heart.

XXX

After everyone left and Emma was asleep in her crib, John decided to retire for the night as well.

“A word, please, Dr Watson,” Emrys called.

John sighed and resumed his seat, eyeing the youngest Holmes warily. Both Mycroft and Emrys referred to him as ‘Dr Watson’ when they were unhappy with him. Sherlock might have forgiven him for the assault; his brothers hadn’t. John’s stomach churned guiltily. Sherlock was the only reason John had been able to get through the last few days.

“You must be aware you are Sherlock’s pressure point,” Emrys said.

John nodded.

“In light of recent events, Dr Watson, and especially considering Sherlock’s lack of a self-preservation instinct, I must ask you this – what are your intentions towards my brother?”

John suppressed his urge to giggle as Mycroft’s words from long ago were echoed by his baby brother.

“He is my best friend,” John said quietly.

“Yes, he is. But are you his?” Emrys’ voice was cold. “Do you have any idea what you have put him through? My brother defied death for you, Dr Watson, and you have done nothing but hurt him since the day he returned.”

John stared at Emrys.

Emrys laughed bitterly. “Don’t look so clueless, John. Couldn’t you see how you broke his heart when you chose Mary over him? Even after she nearly killed him? And yet, to this day, he still puts you first. Before himself, before anyone else.”

“He isn’t like that. He doesn’t feel things like that,” John said weakly.

“If you really believe that, then you are a bigger fool than I thought you to be,” Emrys spat. “And you certainly do not deserve to breathe the same air as my brother. How can you be so blind?”

John’s head whirled. Scenes, images, voices flew past him. Emrys was right. Oh, Sherlock.

“Oh, God,” John cried. “What have I done?”

“Put this right, John,” Emrys begged. “We need Sherlock. Harry needs Sherlock, and with Mycroft and myself down, Sherlock is our only chance to keep the world safe.”

John stared at the most powerful wizard of all time. “What do you mean?” he asked fearfully. “What happened to Mycroft? What happened to you?”

“Moriarty has been resurrected by a powerful necromancer, which may or may not be Voldemort – it is likely to be the latter, which means there are dark forces beyond your imaginings at work,” Emrys said. “Mycroft and I have pitted our combined strengths against the dark magic, but it drains us with every passing moment and we are not even close to undoing the spell. It is probable that Mycroft and I will not survive – and we cannot guarantee that we will take Moriarty with us. If we do, Sherlock will have one less menace to deal with…but if we can’t, Sherlock will need all his strength to face his adversaries.”

“No!” came an anguished cry from the doorway. Sherlock and Harry stood at the door, both equally pale.

“I am coming with you,” Sherlock said, stepping up to his younger brother. “You and Mycroft will not do this alone.”

“As am I,” John said, drawing himself to his full height. This was war, and he was a soldier. He would not let his best friend down again. Not until a single breath remained in his body.

“Me, too,” Harry added quietly, holding up a hand as Sherlock opened his mouth to argue. “If Voldemort is involved, I am the only one that can defeat him, remember?”

XXX

Mycroft looked fragile – a word John had never imagine he could associate with the eldest Holmes. He smiled at his brothers and ruffled Harry’s hair.

“What if we are walking into a trap?” John asked.

“Don’t be stupid, John,” Sherlock said. “Of course we are.”

John stared at his best friend in shock.

“What is the plan?” Harry asked.

Before Emrys could answer, however, Mycroft’s security alarm was triggered. The townhouse was as secure as Buckingham Palace – how did an intruder manage to get in?

“John – cover Mycroft. Harry – lookout. Emrys and I will secure the house,” Sherlock ordered.

John and Harry immediately pulled out their wands.

The door flew open and a masked man, clad in black, entered the room. Emrys’ eyes flashed gold and Sherlock’s eyes flashed silver. John and Harry aimed their wands at the intruder.

Mycroft, surprisingly, smiled, his eyes flashing blue. “Took you long enough,” he said.

The man turned to Emrys and pulled off his mask. Emrys was still poised for attack.

“Is that any way to treat an old friend, Merlin?” the intruder asked, smiling broadly at Emrys.

Emrys staggered back and fell to the floor in dead faint.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, a slight change in one dialogue. Doesn't really make a difference; just minor adjustment for aligning with later chapters.


	10. The Once and Future King

“What the hell are _you_ doing here?” John asked the mystery intruder.

Sherlock, meanwhile, attempted to revive his younger brother.

Mycroft frowned at John and the intruder. “I was unaware you two knew each other.”

The man – blond and blue-eyed – smirked. “John Watson, as I live and breathe! How have you been, Three-Continents Watson?”

John blushed and punched the man’s arm. “Arthur Penn – what the hell are you doing back in the country? Thought you had sworn never to return? Is it even safe for you to be here?” John glanced at Mycroft.

“The British Government beckoned, and here I am,” Arthur replied, giving Mycroft a mock salute.

Mycroft fell back in his seat, exhausted. “It has taken me a long time to track you down, Arthur Pendragon, and even longer to restore your memories.”

Emrys stirred.

John felt his jaw hit the floor. “Wait, what?! _You_ are King Arthur?! _You?!_ ”

Arthur frowned. “Why is that so unbelievable, John?”

“It’s just… _you_.” John could scarcely believe it.

Emrys woke up. “Is it really you?” he whispered.

Arthur’s face softened and he made his way to the youngest Holmes. He held out his hand, and pulled Emrys into a hug when he grasped his.

“I’m sorry I’m late,” Arthur said softly. “I didn’t remember until your brother made me. But I’m here now. I’ll make it up to you. We’re still best friends, yes?” He eyed Emrys apprehensively.

“Where have you been?”

“Afghanistan. I was thrown out of the army for insubordination.” He grinned sheepishly. “I had no intention of coming back to the UK.”

Emrys glared at Mycroft. “How long have you known?”

“A few months.”

“Why didn’t you tell me, Mycroft?”

“He had no memory of his past life, Emrys. You would have been unnecessarily hurt.”

“How did you know he had been reborn in this age?” Emrys asked. “I have been looking for him for centuries.”

“I have been looking since the day I learnt who you were, baby brother.” Mycroft sighed. “I should have been able to find him sooner for you.”

“Well, I’m here now, and I finally remember everything, so it’s fine, eh?” Arthur spoke up.

Emrys paled. “What have you done, Mycroft?”

Mycroft smiled slightly. “The same thing that I have been doing all my life – looking after my little brothers.”

“Is that why you have been so exhausted lately? Not fighting the necromancy?” John asked. “You drained yourself trying to restore his memory?”

Mycroft waved a dismissive hand.

“You sentimental fool,” Sherlock spat at his older brother. “Why didn’t you tell me? I could have helped you!”

“You were otherwise occupied, brother mine,” Mycroft told him, and Sherlock looked away guiltily.  

Mycroft regarded everyone in the room with narrowed eyes. “We need one more person.”

“Arthur is a muggle, Mycroft,” Emrys said quietly.

“Oi, who are you calling a muggle?” Arthur punched Emrys’ arm.

“Gryffindor’s Lion,” John said, smiling at his old friend. He turned to Mycroft. “ _How_ did you do that?”

Emrys, Sherlock and Harry looked at John enquiringly.

“Arthur was a Hit Wizard. He lost his memory in a Death Eater raid. St Mungo’s kept him for months, but they couldn’t fix it. He’d forgotten he had magic, about Hogwarts, about everything. They sent him to the muggle world and he got drafted into the army.” John stared at the British Government. “You’re a bloody miracle worker, Mycroft.”

Emrys ran to Mycroft and hugged him. “Thank you, Myc,” he whispered.

Sherlock approached his brothers. “Practice what you preach, brother mine,” he told Mycroft.

Mycroft smirked.

Emrys and Sherlock exchanged a look. Then they grabbed Mycroft’s hands, eyes flashing gold and silver. The three brothers glowed, enveloped in blue flames. John quickly grabbed Harry and dragged him back. Arthur stepped back as well.

“What’s happening?” Arthur asked.

John shrugged.

Harry stared at his new family in wonder. “They are healing Uncle Mycroft,” the boy said, mesmerised by the sight. “I can see his magic repair.”

Arthur and John squinted, but neither of them could see anything. Arthur turned to John, question in his eyes.

“Harry is Sherlock’s ward. They are magically bonded,” John replied.

 “I’ve never seen magic like this before,” Arthur muttered. “They certainly never tell us these things at Hogwarts.”

“I doubt whether they learnt it at school,” John retorted. “Heaven forbid a Holmes ever be _normal_.”

“But what the hell are they doing?” Arthur asked. “What does it look like to you, Harry?”

Harry blinked, looking away from the Holmes brothers. “Er…it kind of looks like they are pooling their magic together and repairing the damage caused to Uncle Mycroft. Uncle Emrys is gold, Sherlock is silver and Uncle Mycroft is brilliant blue. The blue was in tatters, but it is being pulled together with gold and silver now.”

There was a flash of lightning and the three brothers fell back, no longer aglow. The three spectators rushed to them. John checked their vitals.

“Just unconscious,” he told Arthur and Harry. “They should be fine when they wake up.”

XXX

John and Harry updated Arthur on their current predicament. Arthur pursed his lips. John frowned.

“Do you know who it could be?” the doctor asked.

“Morgana resurrected Lancelot once,” he said softly. “I hope to God it’s not her this time. Merlin – Emrys – killed her just before I died…so if I have been reborn, perhaps she has, as well.”

“Morgana Le Fay?” Harry asked.

“Morgana Pendragon, actually. She’s my sister.”

XXX

Emrys was the first to wake up. He found John and Arthur chatting, and Harry playing with Emma.

“How long?” he asked groggily.

John glanced at his watch. “About six hours. How do you feel?”

“Been better,” Emrys replied, rubbing his eyes.

“Hungry?” Arthur asked.

Emrys glanced at his brothers.

“Sherlock hardly eats, and Mycroft is always on a diet. Let’s get some greasy takeaway,” John suggested.

Arthur jumped up. “Let’s go, Three-Continents.”

John blushed, but didn’t protest. The two ex-soldiers left.

Emrys turned to Harry and Emma. The infant was almost asleep. He hummed a lullaby and Emma fell asleep immediately. Harry placed her in the crib gingerly.

“All right, kid?” Emrys asked gently.

Harry nodded. “Does this mean you and Uncle Mycroft are not dying anymore?”

Emrys laughed and ruffled the boy’s hair. “Probably. I’d have done my best to keep Mycroft from dying, though.”

Harry hesitated. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course. You’re my favourite nephew.”

“I’m your _only_ nephew,” Harry retorted, smiling. He had become used to the playful teasing of Mycroft and Emrys…and he was surprised how easily – almost unconsciously – he’d started referring to them as ‘uncle’. He hadn’t yet called Sherlock ‘dad’ yet, though. Sherlock wasn’t the ‘dad’ type. Father, perhaps? Papa? Either way, Harry wouldn’t dare. Sherlock would probably scoff at his sentimentality.

Emrys regarded him with sympathetic eyes.

Harry hastily gathered his thoughts and returned to the original question he’d wanted to ask. “What you do – you and Sherlock and Uncle Mycroft – healing each other, sharing your magic…is that usual for magical families?”

Emrys shook his head. “Not at all, Harry. Most witches and wizards would be incapable of even conjuring the blue flames.”

“Really? My friend Hermione has been conjuring those flames since first year,” Harry said, surprised. “Of course, she’s the cleverest witch in our class.”

“Interesting,” Emrys said, frowning. “Anyway, even for those powerful enough, a bond that deep – or the desire for such a sacrifice – is almost impossible. My brothers are extremely powerful wizards, even though they don’t use magic much. Also, Mycroft and Sherlock, despite their cold exterior, love with a single-minded focus, with an all-encompassing passion. When they care, they care fiercely – so much so that they will gladly give up their own life and soul to protect the ones they love. What we do wouldn’t work for anyone else. The genetic similarity helps, too.”

“Then how did Sherlock save me?” Harry asked.

Emrys smiled fondly. “Sherlock is more reckless than Mycroft or I. And he always did have a bit of a hero complex, just like Mycroft has a god complex.” He sobered. “We don’t know why it worked, Harry. It was a huge risk for Sherlock. He could have died, he could have lost his magic. Something about you must have caused him to feel as strongly as he did for the magic to work. I have never known the spell to work outside of family – and even in families, it is very, very rare to find such devotion. Know this, Harry – you were on the brink of death, and Sherlock was willing, in that moment, to give up his own life to save you. I doubt if he knows the reason himself – but whatever it was, your magic and Sherlock’s bonded over it. Maybe he recognised a kindred soul. Your magic recognised him as your guardian and let him heal you. It drained him, yes, but Mycroft was able to fix that pretty soon.”

Harry swallowed the lump in his throat. “So, if Sherlock is in trouble, I’d be able to heal him, too?”

“That depends on how much you love him, Harry. I wouldn’t recommend testing it – though Sherlock loves me to death, I know he’ll kill me if something happened to you.” Emrys smiled. “Don’t worry, Harry. You will grow up to be an extremely powerful wizard.”

Harry nodded, not convinced in the least.

“I hear you have managed the Patronus spell?” Emrys asked.

“Just silvery mist, barely enough to drive away a boggart,” Harry replied.

“That’s quite an achievement at thirteen,” Emrys said. “But I am reasonably sure you can do better. Think of a powerful memory, Harry. It does not need to be 100% happiness, just generally happy – but it needs to be powerful. Human emotions aren’t that simple, after all.”

Harry closed his eyes and concentrated.

“Let your feelings wash over you. Feel as you felt when it actually happened.”

Harry let his tears flow.

“Cast the spell.”

“ _Expecto patronum_ ,” Harry said, his voice soft but steady.

“Brilliant! Look, Harry, look!”

Harry opened his eyes to see Emrys pointing at a glowing stag. The stag stood tall and proud, bigger in size than Harry.

“Prongs,” Harry whispered, reaching out a hand towards the beautiful animal.

The stag _winked_ …and faded away.

Sherlock stood staring at Harry, his face shining with pride. “Very well done, Harry,” he said quietly.

“Indeed,” came Mycroft’s voice, no longer exhausted. “Very impressive, nephew mine.”

“Harry has also found us the seventh person to complete our circle,” Emrys announced.

Mycroft and Sherlock raised an eyebrow each.

“His friend, Hermione Granger. She’s been conjuring blue flames since their first year,” Emrys said.

“I don’t think she knows it’s a big deal,” Harry mumbled.

Emrys ruffled his hair. “The great ones never do, kid. Look at yourself.”

John and Arthur appeared with the food.

“Seriously?” Arthur whined. “Six hours we keep vigil, and then we step out for twenty minutes and all of you are awake?”

“I was awake before you left,” Emrys retorted.

Arthur punched his arm. Emrys winced.

“Kindly refrain from manhandling my brother, Captain Pendragon,” Mycroft reprimanded. “He is no longer your servant.”

“Oh, shut it, Mycroft,” Sherlock said, rolling his eyes. He turned to Arthur. “Though, if you do harm Emrys in any manner, you would lose the latter adjective of your title.”

Arthur frowned. “What the hell does that mean?”

Harry giggled. John rolled his eyes, all traces of his earlier misery now gone.

“It’s the standard if-you-hurt-my-little-brother speech,” John said.

“What title?’ Arthur demanded.

“You don’t know?” John was surprised. “You’re supposed to be the Once and Future King.”

Arthur snorted. “Of what? Camelot doesn’t exist anymore.” He nodded in the direction of the Holmes brothers. “This lot is more posh and kingly than me – I’m just a regular bloke this time.”

 

 


	11. The Ruined Christmas

It was Christmas eve and Harry Potter couldn’t be happier. He was home for Christmas, at Baker Street, getting ready for the party. John and his daughter had more or less moved back in. 221C had been acquired, much to Mrs Hudson’s delight. A cleaning crew (hired by Mycroft, of course) and Emrys’ spells did wonders for the dingy flat, and the magnificent Christmas tree made it just perfect for celebration. Harry, Emrys, Arthur and John had spent hours decorating it.

Hermione and Ron would be arriving any minute now; Sirius and Remus had been sent to fetch them. Billy, Molly and Greg were already downstairs, chatting with John and cooing over Emma. Emrys and Arthur were helping Mrs Husdon in the kitchen. Sherlock had gone to pick up his parents from Paddington. Mycroft had attempted to get away, but the combined puppy-eyes of Harry and Emrys had broken the British Government. He would probably be the last to arrive, but Harry had no doubt he would come. After all, Mycroft had been the one to take Harry Christmas shopping.

Harry looked out of the window and saw his friends approaching. He flew down the stairs to meet them.

“My, you look dapper, young man,” Remus said, smiling warmly at Harry and giving him a hug.

Sirius scooped him up and twirled. Harry laughed at his godfather; Sirius sometimes behaved as if Harry was three instead of thirteen. When Sirius finally put him down, Hermione and Ron hugged him as well.

“Muggle London is wicked!” Ron exclaimed, staring at the decorations with wide eyes. “Dad would love to see this!”

Hermione rolled her eyes and Harry laughed. This would probably be the best Christmas he’d ever had.

Harry led his friends to the basement flat and introduced them to Mrs Hudson, Arthur, Billy, Molly, Greg and Emma. Sirius and Remus knew of Billy’s role in Harry’s rescue, and immediately went over to him to chat. Hermione was thrilled to meet Greg and Molly, and began a discussion on criminology and forensics. Harry had warned Greg and Molly in advance, so the policeman and the pathologist were quite happy to speak to her. Ron made a beeline for Mrs Hudson, having heard tales of her baking. The old lady was quite pleased to have the attention of the boy, and plied him with food. Ron was in heaven.

Mr and Mrs Holmes came in a few minutes later. Harry and not met them yet, and he was a little nervous, even though John assured him that they were very nice, normal people and nothing like the three brothers.

“Sherlock! Where’s your boy?” Mrs Holmes asked as soon as she stepped into the room.

Sherlock winced and beckoned Harry over. Harry smiled nervously at the Holmes parents.

Mrs Holmes swept him up in a hug. “I can’t tell you how pleased I am to finally have a grandchild!” she declared. “How are you, Harry dear? Is Sherlock looking after you properly?”

“Yes, Ma’am,” Harry replied dutifully.

“Oh, call me Grandma, Harry dear,” she said happily, patting his hair. “And this is your Grandpa.”

Mr Holmes smiled warmly at Harry and pulled him into a hug.

“One grandchild and they forget the children,” Emrys complained.

“Oh, hush, you,” Mrs Holmes chided, hugging him as well. “If the three of you hadn’t been hiding Harry away, we wouldn’t have needed to wait this long to see him!”

Sherlock was sent upstairs to fetch his violin as Mrs Holmes mooned over Emma Rose.

By the time Mycroft appeared, the party was in full swing. Even Sherlock had an indulgent smile on his face as he watched his ward attempt to dance with his mother, both of them laughing too hard to be able to.

Mycroft tolerated being hugged by his family with only a slight wince. He drew the line at dancing, however, when Harry attempted to pull him up.

“I have two left feet, I’m afraid,” Mycroft told Harry, smirking. “Sherlock, however, is an excellent dancer.”

Sherlock glared at his older brother, but nothing would dissuade Harry from dragging his guardian to dance. By midnight, Sherlock had been made to dance with all the women in the room at least twice, much to his consternation, and much to the amusement of his ward.

At the stroke of midnight, Sirius called for presents. The children were so excited at the prospect that no one dared to mention bedtime. Harry was assigned the duty of handing out gifts from under the Christmas tree. The first present he picked up was a square box, wrapped in black, with ‘Merry Christmas’ printed in gold lettering. He passed it on to the detective to examine.

Sherlock frowned at the gift in his hands. He had no idea who sent it…it was definitely not one of the people in the room. He unwrapped the package to find a wooden box with exquisite carving and Celtic symbols.

“Sherlock, no!” Emrys cried and sprang from his seat, snatching the box from his brother, just as Sherlock opened the latch. There was a hissing sound as a snake with multiple heads slipped out and bit Emrys. Arthur caught the sorcerer as he fell.

Harry hissed at the snake in Parseltongue and the snake returned to the box reluctantly.

John examined Emrys. “It’s a fairly potent poison,” he told Sherlock. “We need an antidote.” He turned to Sirius and Remus. “Get Snape.”

“What snake is that?” Greg asked. “I’ve never seen one like it.”

“I’m calling an ambulance,” Molly said.

“Thank you, Dr Hooper, but that would not be required. I have a unit on its way,” Mycroft said. He turned to Arthur. “Take him upstairs.”

Arthur carried Merlin upstairs to 221B while Sherlock fetched his bezoar. The stone, however, only slowed the poison; it didn’t absorb the venom completely. John ran a diagnostic spell again.

Sherlock drew a sample of blood from his younger brother’s arm and handed it to Molly. “Run a tox screen,” he said. “Call me the moment you are able to either identify or isolate a toxin.”

Greg offered to accompany Molly to Barts. Mrs Hudson took Mr and Mrs Holmes to her own flat, and Ron went with them to help out.

John frowned at the result of his diagnostic spell.

“What is it?” Mycroft asked.

“I know of no poison which can have these effects.”

“Five venoms, John,” Sherlock snapped. “The snake has five heads.”

“Is that why the bezoar is not working?” Sirius asked.

“A bezoar only works on poisons of magical origin,” Hermione said timidly. “If one or more of the poisons are of muggle origin…”

“Excellent, Ms Granger,” Sherlock said. “Molly is running the tests,” he told Mycroft.

Harry opened the box and hissed at the snake. _What are you? What have you poisoned my uncle with?_

The snake stared at the boy.

_Tell me._ Harry commanded in the steeliest voice he could manage.

_We do not know, young speaker,_ the snake heads hissed. _We were commanded to bite when the box opened._

Sherlock stepped close to Harry. “Those are five different snakes,” he said. “ _Dendroaspis polylepis, Oxyuranus scutellatus scutellatus, Acanthophis antarcticus, Naja naja and Corallus caninus._ ”

“Black mamba, Papuan taipan, death adder, Indian cobra and emerald tree boa,” Remus translated for the others, just as Severus Apparated with a sharp ‘pop’.

“ _Corallus caninus_ is not poisonous,” Mycroft said, frowning.

“No,” Sherlock said. “But look at its fangs. Those are not natural, and whatever venom it contains can’t be natural, either.”

Severus administered antidotes for the poisonous snakes one by one, while Harry attempted to talk to the green head to figure out what kind of poison it had been given.

Sherlock’s phone rang. “Molly,” he said curtly. “What have you found?”

“Four snake venoms,” she said shakily. “And _Marburg Marburgvirus_. It looks like Ravn. I don’t know how it’s possible, Sherlock. I’m sorry. I’m running the tests again.”

All colour drained from Sherlock’s face. “Don’t bother with the snake venoms; we are administering antidotes,” Sherlock told her. “Check again for Ravn.”

John and Mycroft had gone white at the mention of Ravn.

“What is it?” Arthur demanded.

“It’s a virus,” John whispered. “An untreatable one.”

“There must be _something_ we can do,” Arthur insisted.

“Let’s clear out the poison first,” John suggested as he helped Severus administer the antidotes.

Mycroft’s phone buzzed. He saw the text and handed his phone to Sherlock.

_Dear me, Mr Holmes, dear me._

Sherlock’s phone rang again.

“Hello, sexy,” came the much-despised voice of his nemesis.

“What do you want, Jim?” Sherlock asked tiredly.

“Did the little lamb take the hit for you?” Moriarty sang. “Poor little lamb.”

Sherlock and Mycroft moved away to Sherlock’s bedroom and Sherlock turned the speaker on.

“It is me you want,” Sherlock said. “Leave him out of this.”

“Will you beg me?” Moriarty asked eagerly.

“Please,” Sherlock said, his voice nearly breaking.

“Say my name, say my NAME!”

“Please, Jim. Let him live. I beg you.” Sherlock blinked rapidly to stem his tears. Mycroft passed him a cigarette silently.

“Dear Sherlock, sweet Sherlock, crying for his little lamb…” Jim Moriarty warbled. “You’ve become boring in my absence, Sherlock darling.”

Sherlock remained silent.

“Anyway, sexy, it wasn’t me that wants your little lamb dead. I just want you,” Jim continued. “Your little lamb is wanted dead by someone I owe.”

Shelock and Mycroft exchanged a dark look.

“How the mighty have fallen,” Sherlock drawled. “I would never have believed you would answer to someone, Jim. How does it feel to be enslaved? No longer Mr Sex, are you?”

Jim howled. John had been right. The man had completely lost any semblance of sanity.

“Who is it that you answer to now? Perhaps I should go to them instead,” Sherlock goaded.

“No, you’re MINE!” Jim yelled.

“Why would I bother with you when there is someone _better_?” Sherlock asked.

“She’s not better! She’s just a witch!” Jim shouted. “You’re ME! You’re MINE!”

“The real Jim would never said that,” Sherlock told him. “But you’re just a shadow of yourself, aren’t you, _Jimmy_? A shadow resurrected by your Mistress, the Necromancer.”

Moriarty laughed heartily. “Oh, look at you, Sherlock, struggling to understand! Dolly isn’t the Necromancer; she just made a deal with him to get me out so she could get to your little lamb. And I am so much _more_ now. What would you know, you filthy muggle-lover?” Jim’s voice had changed to the soft cadence of the menacing voice Harry knew as Lord Voldemort.

Jim paused for a moment. “Shut up, Snake-face,” he hissed, as if to himself. “I’m in control when I speak to Sherlock! You can have your turn later!”

Sherlock and Mycroft stared at each other in horror.

“Tell me, Sherlock Holmes, how does the boy fare? Is he dead yet?” Voldemort laughed. “What a headline it shall be – The-Boy-Who-Lived Dead at Christmas!”

“Tom Riddle, isn’t it?” Sherlock asked. “How terrible it must be for you to share a body with a muggle. I am not sure who I pity more – you or Jim.”

“Do not take me for a fool, Sherlock Holmes,” Voldemort hissed. “James has told me many interesting stories of your adventures. Now, I believe you were ready to strike a deal with James to save the boy’s life.”

“Yes.”

“Bring the boy to me, then. The address will be sent to you.” The line was disconnected.

Sherlock and Mycroft turned at the sound of a choked sob from the doorway. Harry stood there, trembling.

“How long have you been eavesdropping?” Sherlock asked angrily.

Harry stepped in. “The poison was meant for me,” he said shakily. “You have to take me to Voldemort! It’s our only chance of saving Uncle Emrys!”

“No,” Sherlock said firmly.

“It’s my fault!” Harry shouted. “Please, we have to save Uncle Emrys!”

“You will do as you are told!” Sherlock yelled. “Go to your room _and stay there!_ ”

Harry shook his head stubbornly. Sherlock looked ready to yell some more, but Mycroft held up a hand to silence him.

Mycroft knelt on the floor and grasped the boy’s shoulders.

“Harry,” he said quietly. “Do you have faith in me?”

Harry nodded.

“Then let me handle this, please.” Mycroft took a deep breath. “I give you my word, Harry, that Emrys will survive this ordeal. Sherlock and I will find a way to save him.”

“You promise?”

“I promise.”

Harry nodded tearfully, apparently satisfied.

Mycroft patted him and stood up. “I will need your help,” he told the boy.

Harry looked up at his uncle.

“I need you to take charge of the snakes. You are the only one that can talk to them. Find out how the green head received the virus in as much detail as you can gather. Convey the information to John and Professor Snape. Perhaps Ms Granger can help you.”

Harry nodded eagerly and left.

“Thank you, Mycroft,” Sherlock murmured.

Mycroft simply nodded and led his brother out.

“Sherlock and I must depart,” Mycroft announced.

Arthur stood up. “I’ll come with you.”

Mycroft shook his head. “You must look after my brother,” he said to Arthur. He turned to Sirius and Remus. “You must look after Harry.” He turned to John. “Coordinate with Dr Hooper as well and attempt a cure. Keep in touch with us on Sherlock’s phone.”

John nodded.

Sherlock’s phone pinged. The detective nodded at his older brother.

The two brothers stepped out together. At the bottom of the stairs, Mycroft held out a hand to stall his brother.

“Forgive me, brother,” he said quietly. His eyes flashed a brilliant blue.

Sherlock Holmes fell to the floor, mercurial eyes widened in shock.


	12. Deus ex Mycroft

Mycroft Holmes was not a man given to fits of rage. No, he was The Iceman, largely thought to be devoid of emotions and feelings and anything that might be taken for a weak spot. When required, he could detach the rest of his brain from his amygdala and take decisions which others would see as heartless.

Of course, they were fools. Mycroft lived in a world of goldfish. Even his own brothers – the cleverest men he knew – seemed slow to him.

Which is why he needed Sherlock out of the way for now. Sherlock’s place was by Emrys’ side, not Mycroft’s – not when Mycroft was about to walk into a trap. Field work was not his natural milieu, but for the protection of his family, Mycroft Holmes was no less than a warrior god.

XXX

Moriarty and Voldemort fought for dominance over the resurrected body of Jim Moriarty.

“I will have my own body back when Sherlock Holmes brings Harry Potter here,” Voldemort hissed angrily. “I will no longer need your filthy muggle form!”

“You are an idiot if you think Sherlock will come unprepared,” Moriarty told the Dark Lord. “He is as devious as I am. And, if you hate my body so, Snake-face, why don’t you leave it to me? Afraid of the competition? Look at me – I’m a heartthrob!”

“Cease your ranting at once!” the Dark Lord ordered.

Jim giggled. “Or what?”

“Wormtail!” Lord Voldemort shouted. “Have you prepared for the ceremony?”

Peter Pettigrew, who had been cowering in a corner, answered with a meek, “Yes, Master.”

“Look at you, you’ve got a rat,” Jim said, giggling again. “Even Sherlock’s sidekick is better than this snivelling creature.”

Lord Voldemort’s furious scream fell a nearby tree.

“Enough!” a female voice snapped.

“Hello, Dolly,” Jim said. “How nice of you to join us.”

“Shut up, muggle,” Dolores Umbridge spat. “I have no interest in you.”

“You used him to bring me back to life!” Jim sang.

“To get to Harry Potter, who happens to be in the care of Sherlock Holmes,” she said.

“Sherlock’s mine, mine, mine!” The consulting criminal spun around like a ballet dancer.

Umbridge rolled her eyes. The sooner the Dark Lord regained his powers, the sooner they would be rid of this annoying maniac. Unfortunately, till then, they need him to keep Holmes on his toes.

She threw a vial of blood at Pettigrew. “Just in case. If the plan with Potter fails, we’ll need that. It’s the blood of a powerful enemy.”

“Who?” Pettigrew asked.

“Albus Dumbledore. And yes, it’s forcibly taken.”

XXX

Sherlock Holmes was shaken awake by Mrs Hudson. She looked worried and drawn.

“Are you all right, dear?” she asked him, wringing her hands. “What happened?”

Sherlock jumped up and ran to the front door. It wouldn’t budge. His eyes flashed silver as he tried to open it with magic. It was futile. Mycroft had locked them in.

Sherlock screamed inside his head. _MYCROFT! I’LL NEVER FORGIVE YOU FOR THIS!_

A long way from London, Mycroft winced in his seat in a helicopter. _Tend to Emrys, Sherlock. Please. Keep him alive till I return._

_You betrayed me._ Sherlock was hurt and confused. _You need me, Mycroft. You will not be able to defeat Moriarty and Voldemort alone._

_I have no intention of defeating either of them, Sherlock. I just need a cure for Emrys. Further, I need your assistance. Emrys is likely to awaken once the snake venoms have been counteracted. Please attempt to gather the exact location of Isle of the Blessed from him, Sherlock. If Moriarty and Voldemort do not have an appropriate cure, which, unfortunately, I believe to be quite likely, the life-water from the Isle would be our only chance._

Sherlock ran up the stairs.

XXX

Sherlock Holmes strode through the graveyard at Little Hangleton, his Belstaff coat billowing behind him. He stopped at the ornate grave of Tom Riddle senior.

“Hello, sexy,” Jim Moriarty greeted him.

“Hello, Jim.”

“Where’s the boy, Sherlock?” Jim asked.

“Safe. At home.”

“I wouldn’t have taken you for a fool, Mr Holmes, leaving your ward to die,” Dolores Umbridge said, walking over to them.

“You must be Jim’s Dolly,” Sherlock said, smirking. He turned to Moriarty. “Really, Jim, couldn’t you find a better looking or at least a younger one?”

“Shut up, you muggle-lover!” Umbridge cried, aiming her wand at Sherlock and shooting forth a jet of purple light.

Sherlock waved a casual hand and the curse dissipated.

“You’re a bigger idiot than I thought if you think I’d let Harry open an unmarked package,” Sherlock told her smarmily.

Umbridge shot another curse at him. Sherlock’s eyes flashed a brilliant blue and Umbridge was thrown to the ground, unconscious and neatly tied up with thick rope.

Jim levelled a glare at the detective.

“I know you, Sherlock,” Jim said shewdly. “You were upset. If the boy didn’t open the package, who did?”

“Very good, Jim,” Sherlock drawled. He sobered as he confessed softly, “My brother.”

Jim Moriarty threw back his head and roared with laughter. When he finally stopped laughing, he wiped the tears of mirth from his face and cooed, “The Iceman is melting…the Iceman is dying…the Ice will be gone and the songs will be on…”

“Whatever you want from Harry, Jim, I will give you. Just let me have the cure for my brother.”

“Oh, no, no, no,” Jim sang.

“You fool!” Lord Voldemort shouted. “I need Harry Potter’s blood! You are useless to me! _Avada Kedavra!_ ”

Sherlock waved away the green light. Voldemort staggered. “Impossible,” the Dark Lord muttered. “Who _are_ you?”

“A Holmes,” Sherlock said curtly. “Go away, Tom Riddle. I need to speak to Jim.” His eyes flashed a brilliant blue and the Dark Lord was torn from the body of Jim Moriarty. The spirit fled into the waiting arms of Peter Pettigrew and Apparated with a sharp crack.

“Thanks, Sherlock,” Jim sang. “But I’m still not going to help you have the Iceman.”

“You _will_ help me save my brother, Mr Moriarty.” Sherlock’s features melted away into Mycroft’s as his eyes flashed.

“NO!” Jim yelled. “ _Sherlock_ got bitten by the snakes?!”

Mycroft didn’t respond.

“We have counteracted the snake venoms,” Mycroft told Jim. “What do we do with the Ravn?”

Jim kicked the nearest gravestone angrily. “There’s no cure for the virus! Sherlock wasn’t supposed to die! Why did you let him open the box?!”

Mycroft pursed his lips as the madman ranted and raved.

“Enough,” he said finally, eyes flashing.

Jim Moriarty fell to the ground, unconscious and trussed up like Umbridge.

XXX

Emrys stirred as Sherlock burst into the flat.

“Where’s Mycroft?” Arthur asked.

“Gone,” Sherlock said. He turned to John and Severus. “Have you counteracted the venoms?”

The doctor and the potions master nodded. Emrys groaned and opened his eyes.

“Emrys,” Sherlock said, kneeling on the carpet. “Listen to me carefully. I need you to tell me the exact location of the Isle of the Blessed.”

“No,” Emrys said hoarsely.

“Please, Emrys,” Sherlock begged.

“I won’t let you exchange your life for mine,” Emrys whispered, gasping for breath.

“I won’t. I promise,” Sherlock assured him. “I will stay right here. Just tell me where it is.”

Emrys shook his head.

“Forgive me, little brother,” Sherlock murmured and delved into Emrys’ mind, eyes flashing silver.

Emrys’ eyes flashed gold and Sherlock was thrown across the room. The detective had extracted the data he needed, though.

XXX

_There is no cure, Sherlock._ Mycroft’s tired voice sounded in Sherlock’s head as he picked himself up from the floor and ducked into the kitchen to get away from Emrys’ accusing glare.

_I have the location,_ Sherlock replied. _There must be another way, Mycroft. From what Emrys said, it seems the price of a life is a life. He will never forgive you or me if you died for him. He is furious._

_I would never forgive myself if I didn’t do everything in my power, Sherlock._

_Come back, Mycroft. Let me go instead._

_No._

Sherlock slumped as Mycroft’s mental shields pushed him out. He made his way to the living room. Everyone glared at him.

“What are you up to?” John asked angrily.

Sherlock fell to his knees and buried his face in his hands.

XXX

It was rather convenient that the perks of being the British Government included instant use of a helicopter, Mycroft thought gratefully. He glanced at his prisoners; both were out cold.

Mycroft sighed as he landed at the Isle. He didn’t particularly wish to die, but if there was no other way to save his brothers, he would give his life without hesitation.

He found a beautiful witch waiting for him.

“Mycroft Holmes,” he said, holding out his hand.

The woman grasped his palm with surprising strength. “A worthy brother of Emrys, indeed,” she said.

“May I enquire who I have the pleasure of addressing?”

“I believe my half-brother is a friend of yours,” she said. “I’m Morgana Pendragon.”

“Charmed,” Mycroft said.

Morgana laughed. “Oh, but you are deliciously duplicitous, Mycroft Holmes. Has Emrys not spun tales of my evil deeds?”

“Emrys grew up,” Mycroft said quietly. “He is not the naïve, fearful little idiot he was when you knew him. And, even though he ended your mortal life, I believe he was quite fond of you.”

Morgana looked thoughtful. “He did, didn’t he?” She blinked. “And how’s Arthur faring?”

“He is well.”

“So why are you here, Mycroft Holmes?”

“I am sure you are aware of my purpose, Lady Morgana.”

Her face turned serious. “Tell me, Mycroft Holmes, why should I help you save the life of the sorcerer who ended mine?”

“Because you know as well as I do, Lady Morgana, that Emrys never really was your enemy.”

“Clever,” Morgana murmured. “So what do you offer me in exchange for your little brother?”

“I have three lives to offer you – my own, Jim Moriarty and Dolores Umbridge. Take what you will.”

Morgana frowned at him. “Strange. You do not seem very afraid to die.”

“Logic dictates that if my death serves a greater purpose than my life, I should die. There is no reason for me to be afraid.”

Morgana smiled. “I like you, Mycroft Holmes,” she said. “Pity. We could have been friends.”

“We could be,” Mycroft agreed.

Morgana’s eyes flashed gold, just like Emrys. Rain poured from the skies. She filled the cup of life with rain water and the rain stopped as soon as the cup was full.

“Jim Moriarty is hardly more than a wraith,” she said. “His life is useless.”

Mycroft nodded. “I thought as much.”

“This woman, however, is rather vile. I will accept, on behalf of magic, her life for Emrys.” Morgana smiled at the British Government. “On one condition, Mycroft Holmes.”

Mycroft arched an eyebrow.

“When I ask you to, you shall take me to London with you.”

“How many times?”

Morgana started. “Just the once,” she said.

Mycroft smirked. “Certainly, Lady Morgana. I’d be delighted. I do hope, though, that after your visit, you would like London enough to visit again. And I may suggest, perhaps you would enjoy a visit to Scotland as well?”

Morgana stared at him. “Perhaps,” she said finally.

She filled a vial with the life-water and threw it at him. “Godspeed, Mycroft Holmes. I shall see you soon.”

XXX

Mycroft dropped off Moriarty with MI6 before heading to Baker Street. As soon as he entered 221B, however, a teary-eyed Sherlock punched him.

“You arrogant bastard!” the detective yelled.

Mycroft pulled out a pristine handkerchief from his pocket and applied it to his bleeding nose. “Now, Sherlock, you know perfectly well Mummy and Daddy were married for several years before I was conceived.”

Sherlock raised his arm again, but John caught him.

“Not now, Sherlock,” the doctor said.

“Whose life did you bargain away, Mycroft?” Emrys asked feebly. He looked as if he was hanging on by a thread.

“An enemy’s – the perpetrator of this mischief. Dolores Umbridge, former Under-Secretary to the Minister for Magic. She instigated Lord Voldemort to use necromancy to resurrect James Moriarty, promising him assistance with a rebirth ritual.”

“And why would Morgana take this woman’s life in exchange for mine?” Emrys demanded.

Arthur sucked in a sharp breath.

“A living Mycroft Holmes is more useful to her than a dead one,” Mycroft said simply. “I will bring her to London at a time of her choosing.”

Emrys stared at him. “Show me,” he demanded.

“After you have drunk the water, Emrys,” Mycroft said.

Emrys shook his head. Mycroft sighed.

“What is done is done, Emrys,” Arthur said quietly. “You may as well take the water.”

John and Arthur helped Emrys sit up and Sherlock gently tipped the vial, letting him drink. There was a blinding flash of light and Emrys was left healed in its wake.

Mycroft smiled, but his smile faded as Emrys and Sherlock glared at him. Emrys glared at Sherlock as well.

Severus Snape cleared his throat. “Lord Holmes, if you could remove the barrier, I’d like to return now.”

“Apologies, Professor,” Mycroft said smoothly. His eyes flashed. “You are free to leave.” Severus Disapparated.

“Perhaps Sirius and I could take the children to Grimmauld Place for the day? We will be back in the evening for dinner and gifts.” Remus suggested mildly.

“We have scanned the gifts,” Sirius added quickly. “The rest are all marked and safe.”

Sherlock’s face fell, but he nodded. Harry cast a worried look at the detective.

Sirius and Remus left with Harry, Hermione and Ron.

“Get me out of here,” Emrys told Arthur. “I don’t care where, just away from _them._ ”

Sherlock suddenly looked lost and vulnerable for a moment before turning to glare at Mycroft. Mycroft remained impassive.

“That’s no way to speak of your brothers, Emrys Holmes,” Mrs Holmes chided from the doorway. “They were only looking after their baby brother.”

Emrys flushed, but didn’t reply. Mycroft and John shared a meaningful look and John understood the unspoken _danger night_.

“The townhouse is at your disposal, Mummy, and yours, too, Arthur,” Mycroft said quickly in an attempt to diffuse the situation. “I must travel urgently, but Emrys and Sherlock both have keys and a car is waiting downstairs.” He kissed his mother’s cheek and hurried out.

Mrs Holmes stepped forward and hugged Emrys. “Let’s go, then, shall we?”

Arthur and Mr Holmes helped Emrys up. Mrs Holmes patted Sherlock’s cheek reassuringly.

Emrys, Arthur, Mr and Mrs Holmes left. Sherlock watched from the window as the black car drove away.

“Damn Mycroft,” Sherlock muttered.

“He saved Emrys,” John pointed out. “With your help,” he added quickly.

“Emrys hates me now,” Sherlock said in a small voice. “I looked into his head forcibly.”

“Yes, but you did it to save his life,” John said softly. “He’ll come around, Sherlock, don’t worry. You’re angry with Mycroft – I can understand, but he too did what he did only to protect both of you.”

“This is why caring is not an advantage, John.”

“Come on, Sherlock. Let’s get some rest, yeah? I’ve texted Greg and Molly.”

Sherlock allowed John to tug him away.


	13. The Christmas Carol

“Don’t fret, Harry,” Remus said kindly. “John’s with him, he’ll be fine.”

Harry nodded, not fully convinced.

“John is a doctor _and_ a wizard,” Sirius said. “Sherlock will be fine.”

“But Emrys…” Harry began.

“I think he was just upset, Harry,” Hermione piped up. “Once he has calmed down, he’ll be fine.”

“Brothers fight all the bloody time, trust me,” Ron said. “I’d know; I’ve got five of them!”

Harry smiled slightly.

“Besides, they’ve got people looking after them,” Ron continued.

Harry’s smile disappeared. “Uncle Mycroft,” he whispered. “He’s by himself.”

“Didn’t he say he’s going off for work?” Ron asked.

“He said he must travel urgently,” Hermione said.

“Oh,” Ron said. “You think he lied so Emrys and the others could use his house?”

“That man is too clever to lie outright,” Sirius said. “But he does twist and turn the truth.”

Harry nodded. “He must be traveling if he said he was…but…” He pulled out his mobile phone, a gift from Mycroft and dialled a number only a few privileged people knew.

“Mycroft Holmes’ office,” came Anthea’s cool voice. “May I know who’s calling?”

“Anthea? It’s Harry. Why are you answering Uncle Mycroft’s mobile?”

“Mr Holmes is indisposed at the moment, so all his phone calls are directed to me,” Anthea replied calmly. “How may I help you, Harry?”

“What do you mean – indisposed?” Harry cried.

“I am afraid I am not at liberty to disclose the details,” Anthea told him.

“Where is he? Is he traveling?” Harry asked.

“Yes,” Anthea said curtly. “If that is all, Harry, I do have some pressing matters to attend to.”

“Please, Anthea,” Harry begged. “Where is Uncle Mycroft? Is he all right?”

Anthea sighed. “He is in a secure medical facility in Scotland. I am given to understand that his life is not at risk.”

“What happened to him?”

“I am not at liberty to disclose.”

“Can we visit him?”

“It would be unprecedented,” Anthea said quietly. “Off the record, however, I think he might benefit from seeing a friendly face. I have not been instructed to restrict a visit. Should I prepare an aircraft for you?”

Harry turned to his godfather. “Sirius, can I go? Please?” he begged.

Sirius nodded.

“I think you should check with Sherlock first,” Remus said softly.

Harry bit his lip. “Anthea, can I check with Sherlock and call you back?”

“Certainly,” Anthea said coldly. “Consider your trip cancelled, Harry.”

Sher disconnected before Harry could utter another word.

“I don’t think she likes Sherlock,” Harry said weakly.

***

Sirius Apparated with Harry right inside 221B. John jumped up from his chair near the fireplace. Sherlock didn’t even turn around.

“Oh, it’s you,” John said, visibly relieved. He took in Harry’s expression. “What’s wrong, Harry?”

Sherlock looked up anxiously.

“Can I go to Scotland?” Harry asked.

John raised an eyebrow at Sirius.

“Harry was worrying about everyone,” Sirius said. “He called Mycroft – his assistant said he’s in a medical facility in Scotland.”

John looked at the child incredulously. “You’re worried about _Mycroft_?”

“Sherlock has you, Emrys has Arthur and his parents,” Harry said quietly. He turned to his guardian. “Anthea wouldn’t give any details. Please, can we visit him? She said it might be beneficial for him to see a friendly face.”

Sherlock finally looked up from his seat. His face had gone ashen. He quickly dialled a number. The three Gryffindors waited silently as Sherlock bullied whoever was on the line to give up information about his brother.

“Idiot,” Sherlock hissed when he finally got off the phone.

“Anthea said he wasn’t in danger,” Harry said anxiously.

Sherlock’s furious eyes softened as they turned to Harry. “Mycroft is quite tough, Harry,” he said gently. “He’s not dying anytime soon. He’s just being treated for the after-effects of the Killing Curse.”

Sirius and John gasped.

“How’d he survive that?” John asked.

Sherlock blinked. “You can cast it aside with only minor damage to yourself if your magic is stronger than the caster. Did you not know this?”

At the blank look on everyone’s face, Sherlock huffed in annoyance. “Really, John, you’re always berating me about not knowing whether the sun goes around the moon or who the Prime Minister is – how can you not know such basic magical facts?”

John smiled fondly.

“Mycroft’s mind, however, also seems to be exhibit symptoms similar to an attack by a Dementor – he’s got the symptoms, but they can’t find any trace of a Dementor attack.”

“You’re prone to depression,” John told the detective. “It’s quite possible that your brother is, too. He’s been through a lot lately.”

Sherlock’s silence was answer enough.

“Then we have to cheer him up,” Harry said firmly. “If Uncle Mycroft can’t come here for Christmas, we will take Christmas to him.”

The three adults stared at him.

“You don’t visit Uncle Mycroft when he’s sick, do you?” Harry asked Sherlock, narrowing his eyes. “No wonder Anthea was so miffed.” He turned to his godfather. “Sirius, John – get everyone ready.” He turned back to his guardian. “You and I are going to fetch Emrys.”

“How are we going?” John asked. “It’ll be tough to Apparate so many people.”

“Anthea offered to prepare an aircraft for us,” Harry replied. He pulled out his phone and called Mycroft’s mobile again.

“Mycroft Holmes’ office,” Anthea’s cool voice sounded in his ear. It may as well have been a recording.

“Hi, Anthea – it’s Harry again. Umm, could you get that aircraft for us? We’re bringing everyone. It’d be great if you could join, too.”

There was a long silence at the other end. Finally, Anthea whispered, “Everyone?”

“Er…we were going to have a Christmas party, but since Uncle Mycroft can’t come here, we’ll take the party to him!” Harry hesitated. “Is that all right? Will his doctors allow that?”

There was a choked sound suspiciously similar to a sob.

“Er, Anthea? Are you ok?”

“I will make the arrangements. Where should I send the vehicles?” she asked.

“I’ll coordinate with her,” John volunteered and Harry relayed it to Mycroft’s ultra-efficient assistant.

“Thanks!” Harry said finally, before hanging up. “I hope you can join us for a little while at least.”

***

Sherlock and Harry made their way to Mycroft’s townhouse. Mrs Holmes greeted them at the door. She hugged her son and grandson warmly.

Blushing at the blatant display of affection and yet craving more, Harry asked softly, “How is Uncle Emrys?”

“Oh, he’s fine, dear,” Mrs Holmes said cheerfully. “He’s just cross with Mycroft and Sherlock.”

“They were only trying to save his life,” Harry said in a small voice.

Mrs Holmes regarded him fondly. “Oh, I know that, dear. He’ll come around, don’t worry.”

“I…er…we actually wanted to take everyone to Scotland for the evening,” Harry said.

Mrs Holmes raised an eyebrow, exactly as Mycroft did.

“Er…Uncle Mycroft is in a hospital, so I thought…er…I thought we’d cheer him up a bit.”

Mr Holmes had come up by then. “What happened to Mycroft?” he asked loudly. “Why is he in a hospital? Is it even safe for him to be in a hospital?”

Harry shot Sherlock a beseeching look.

“He’ll be fine,” Sherlock told his father. “He’s just a bit down.”

The Holmes parents exchanged an anxious look.

“Is he depressed again?” Mrs Holmes asked quietly.

“Possibly,” Sherlock said. “We know he was involved in a fight; he could have been injured.”

Mrs Holmes drew her wand. “ _Expecto patronum_ ,” she chanted. A silvery eagle burst forth from her wand. “Go to Mycroft,” she said. “Keep watch. We’ll be there soon.”

She turned to Harry. “Come with Grandma, Harry dear. We’re going to drag Emrys to Scotland if we have to carry him ourselves!” She took Harry’s arm and marched in.

Sherlock and his father followed her meekly.

“We are going to Scotland,” she announced. Arthur and Emrys looked up at her quizzically. Emrys’ face hardened as he caught sight of Sherlock.

“No,” he said. “I’m not going anywhere with them.”

“But Uncle Mycroft is ill!” Harry cried.

“And it’s Harry’s first Christmas with the family,” Mrs Holmes said sternly. “Don’t be such a child, Emrys.”

Emrys looked away.

“What happened to Mycroft?” Arthur asked. “He seemed fine when we saw him.”

“Nothing life-threatening,” Sherlock snapped, glaring at Emrys.

“Can’t you put away your anger for just one day?” Harry asked, pulling his best puppy-eyed look at Emrys. “Uncle Mycroft’s miserable and alone, and no one should be – not on Christmas evening. Besides, we’ve already gotten him gifts!”

“Emrys,” Sherlock called softly. “Mycroft didn’t look into your head; I did. He only did what he could to save you…and me. If you must hate one of us for what was done, it should be me.”

Everyone in the room stared at Sherlock in shock.

“Get out, all of you,” Sherlock ordered. “Emrys and I will join you in five minutes.”

***

As promised, Sherlock and Emrys emerged in a few minutes. Both had slightly reddened eyes but appeared otherwise unharmed. They piled into the waiting cars in silence.

Harry tugged at Sherlock’s sleeve nervously. Sherlock smirked, putting Harry’s anxiety at rest.

John, Emma, Greg, Molly, Wiggins, Mrs Hudson, Ron, Hermione, Sirius, Remus and even Snape were waiting for them at the airport. Within seconds of their arrival, Anthea rushed in and hugged Harry.

“The Holmes family is incredibly lucky to have you now,” she whispered in his ear, causing him to blush furiously.

Mrs Holmes, however, had ears even sharper than Sherlock. “Indeed,” she said, winking at both Anthea and Harry.

“Does he know we are coming?” Mrs Holmes asked Anthea quietly.

She smiled enigmatically. “A surprise visit is better appreciated, isn’t it?”

Mr Holmes chuckled.

***

The arrangements were perfect. All gifts – and even the painstakingly decorated Christmas tree from Baker Street had been transported to a cozy penthouse of Mycroft’s favourite hotel in the area. Anthea dropped off everyone at the hotel.

“I’ll get him here,” she said.

“Take Harry with you,” Mrs Holmes told her. “He wouldn’t want to leave the hospital otherwise.”

Anthea wavered.

“Harry is more than capable of keeping secrets,” Sherlock declared. “You need not worry. Besides, he _adores_ Mycroft.” He made a face.

That drew a smile from everyone.

***

Mycroft was awake and glaring at his mother’s eagle patronus when Harry and Anthea arrived at the small hospital hidden inside a labyrinthine government complex.

“Go home,” Mycroft muttered, trying to get the eagle to move from the foot of his bed. “I’m fine; she doesn’t need to worry.”

The eagle stared back at him, unimpressed.

Anthea knocked smartly and walked in. “You have a visitor,” she told her employer cheerfully.

“I don’t want to see anyone,” Mycroft grumbled. “I’ll be back at work tomorrow, can’t you postpone this meeting?”

Anthea shook her head. “Sorry, Sir, needs to be done today or not at all.”

Mycroft groaned. “I hate Christmas,” he complained.

Anthea smirked. “Well, perhaps you won’t mind this one so much.” She held the door open. “Come on in,” she told Harry.

Harry stepped in hesitantly as Anthea slipped out.

Mycroft’s shocked face caused Harry to smile. He ran to the bed and hugged his uncle.

“How are you feeling, Uncle Mycroft?” he asked.

Mycroft smiled at the boy. “I will be fine, nephew mine. This is just a minor inconvenience. I should be able to leave shortly.”

“What happened to you? We were so worried!”

Mycroft arched an eyebrow. “We?”

“Everyone is here. Since you couldn’t come home for Christmas, we brought the party to you!” Harry beamed at his uncle. “Even Snape came.”

“Professor Snape, my dear nephew,” Mycroft corrected automatically, then froze. “Everyone? Sherlock and Emrys as well?”

“Of course,” Harry confirmed happily, relieved that his uncle was all right. “Sherlock bullied people to learn what’s wrong with you. He got Emrys to come, too.”

The British Government stared at the Boy-Who-Lived incredulously. After several moments of silence, he finally whispered, “What a wondrous child you are, nephew mine.”

Harry flushed, and clutched Mycroft’s large hand with both of his own. Mycroft patted his hair gently, reminded of his younger days when he had done the same to his younger brothers.

“You don’t look particularly ill to me,” came Sherlock’s voice, followed by the man himself.

Mycroft patted Harry one last time and smirked at his brother. “I am touched at your concern for my safety, little brother,” he said.

Sherlock huffed. “You are being released into John’s custody. How long do you intend to stay in Scotland?”

“We can return to London immediately, if you prefer,” Mycroft said, getting up.

John stepped in. “Jesus, Mycroft,” he swore. “Please tell me you’re not as difficult a patient as your brother!”

The identical scowls on the faces of Mycroft and Sherlock drew a smile from both Harry and John.

***

Emrys hugged Mycroft as soon as they returned. He proceeded to weep and wail his apology on Mycroft’s shoulder.

“I’ll get the food sorted,” John mumbled. “Who wants to help me?”

Molly, Greg, Sirius, Remus, Ron and Hermione jumped up and followed John into the kitchenette area.

Mrs Holmes caught Harry before he could move away. “You’re family. Stay,” she whispered in his ear.

Mrs Hudson stood up slowly, thrust Emma Rose into the arms of the unsuspecting Severus Snape and went after them. Arthur, Anthea and Snape exchanged a look and slipped out quietly.

“How considerate,” Mr Holmes said, smiling.

Emrys was still sobbing. Mycroft patted him awkwardly, while the other Holmes didn’t bother to hide their smiles.

When Emrys finally calmed down, everyone was relieved.

“Don’t do that again,” Emrys said tearfully. “I can’t bear it if something happened to you or Sherlock because of me.”

“It is the prerogative of a big brother to look out for his younger siblings, Emrys,” Mycroft replied quietly.

“You interfere too much,” Sherlock grumbled.

Mycroft sighed.

Mrs Holmes stepped forward and boxed the ears of each of her children. “Idiots,” she said, equally fond and exasperated. “Really, making mountains of molehills and what not. What will your guests think? If you don’t behave properly, Harry will think he’s stuck with a family of lunatics!”

Mr Holmes chuckled and put an arm around Harry’s shoulders. “I’m afraid it’s a little too late for that, dear. Harry has already realised what a bunch of crazies we are. Isn’t that right, grandson?”

Harry could only laugh in response.

“Shall we join the others, then? I believe a feast and gifts are waiting,” Sherlock suggested, sweeping an arm in a grand gesture.

“Really, brother, do you practice these ‘cool’ poses in front of the mirror?” Emrys asked.

“Mycroft does it, too,” Sherlock muttered, flushing.

“Of course,” Mycroft said, imperturbable as ever. “You should try it out sometime, too, Emrys.”

Harry couldn’t hold in his laughter. Sherlock patted his hair fondly.

“You, too, Harry. You will need to make public appearances soon enough,” Mycroft told his nephew.

“Er…what?!”

Fortunately, John came to the boy’s rescue at that moment. “Come on, guys, let’s finish Christmas celebrations while it’s still Christmas, yeah?”

***

A loud cheer greeted the Holmes family as they joined their friends for dinner. Soon enough, everyone was too full to be able to move properly.

“That’s what you call a real banquet,” Ron muttered, rubbing his belly. “I can’t believe how much I ate.”

Next to him, Hermione sighed. “I can’t believe how much you ate, either.”

Ron glared at her and Harry laughed.

“Time for gifts!” Sirius announced.

An hour later, everyone, especially Harry, was buried under a mountain of gifts.

“Have you guys ever heard of moderation?” John asked, shaking his head. Emma Rose happily chewed on the ear of her new plush unicorn in his lap.

Sherlock frowned at his friend. “Are you unhappy with yours?”

John stared at him, disbelieving. “How can I possibly be unhappy with this?” He pointed at the two full sets of combat gear, one muggle and one magic. They contained equipment he could only dream of. “I’m just saying it’s too much.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Emrys said cheerfully.

Harry, meanwhile, stared blankly at some documents in his hands. Some were muggle legal papers, and some were official looking parchment.

Hermione nudged him. “Harry? Are you all right?”

Harry’s eyes found Sherlock’s and filled with tears.

“It’s just an option, a right granted to you in case you want to exercise it,” Sherlock said quickly. “It is in no way a condition for our – my – affection.”

Harry stared at his guardian speechlessly. Then he flung himself at Sherlock.

Sherlock held the child as he cried. “I’m sorry,” the detective murmured gently. “I…I thought it might please you.”

“What did he do?” John asked Emrys, who sat next to him. Emrys smiled.

Hermione peered at the papers and gasped.

“Do not be distressed, Harry,” Sherlock was saying softly. “We can burn the documents right away. I apologise; it was presumptuous of me to imagine you would want…”

“Shut up, little brother,” Mycroft said cheerfully. “Your child is not sad.”

Sherlock glared at him.

Harry finally stopped crying. “Thank you,” he said hoarsely. “Thank you. It means more to me than I can tell you. I’d be honoured to add the Holmes name to mine.”

Sherlock beamed.

“Excellent,” Mycroft said.

 


	14. The War Phoenix

“Man, some people have all the luck,” Seamus grumbled good-naturedly at the newly adorned Harry James Potter Holmes at the breakfast table. “As if being Harry Potter wasn’t enough, you’re now a Holmes, too!”

Harry flinched. Ron and Hermione glared at Seamus.

Seamus put up his hands. “Just kidding, mate.” He grinned broadly. “You do realise that the Holmes family is ranked way above the Malfoys?”

“They are practically magical royalty,” Neville said. “Historically, they have not been very involved with magical affairs – or muggle ones, for that matter – but if he chooses to, Lord Holmes can easily overthrow the Wizengamot.”

“Uncle Mycroft doesn’t care…” Harry began hotly.

“Shh, Snape!” Ron hissed.

Professor Severus Snape glided smoothly to the Gryffindor table. “Is there a problem, Mr Holmes?” he asked Harry.

Harry shook his head. “No, Sir.”

Snape cocked an eyebrow but did not comment. The Gryffindors watched him silently.

“Very well,” the Potions Master finally said. “Detention, Mr Holmes, for making a ruckus. Meet me at my office at six.” He walked away, robes billowing after him.

Dean whistled. “Now, there’s one git who doesn’t care a fig whether you’re Potter or Holmes, Harry! Why is he after your blood?”

Seamus and Neville were contrite and apologetic.

“Can’t you get your uncle to do something about the greasy git?” Ron asked.

Harry shook his head, remembering all the times Snape had helped him. Besides, at Christmas, Snape had not only helped save Emrys, he had also promised to talk to Harry about his mother. If detention with Snape was the only way to learn about his mother from her friend, Harry didn’t mind at all.

Hermione’s reassuring hand on his arm told Harry that at least one of his friends understood.

XXX

“That was hardly fair, Severus,” Lupin said mildly once the Potions Master returned to his seat.

“Severus needs to maintain his cover,” Dumbledore replied before Snape could open his mouth. “We may need him soon.”

Snape pursed his lips. As if in response to the Headmaster’s words, the Dark Mark on his arm throbbed violently.

“Severus! Are you ill?” Minerva asked solicitously.

Snape nodded curtly and left.

Sirius and Remus exchanged a concerned look.

XXX

Harry’s day was fairly uneventful. At quarter to six, he stood outside Professor Snape’s office, slightly scared of the Potions Master. Snape had been rather decent to him this year, and he didn’t want to break that spell…and he couldn’t help but wonder if this arbitrarily assigned detention meant that Snape had gone back to his old ways of Harry-hating or if it was a mere camouflage for something deeper, and the man he had gotten to know as his mother’s friend was actually the real Severus Snape.

“He did say he would assign me a detention when he wanted to talk about Mum,” Harry said to himself and raised his arm to knock but someone grabbed him from behind and pushed him against the wall.

“How did you manage to worm your way into the Holmes family, Potter?” Draco Malfoy demanded, his pale face reddened with anger.

“It’s Holmes, or Potter-Holmes now, _Malfoy_ ,” Harry retorted, striving to remain calm.

“You don’t belong with them!” Draco spat. “It is bad enough that they took you in…but to actually make you the heir to the Holmes legacy…!”

Harry shrugged. He had known that the Holmes family was powerful, but the reaction to his changed name made him curious and not a little afraid of what he had brought upon himself. He himself had never heard of the Holmes name in the magical world till he met Sherlock and Mycroft and Emrys. The appearance of the three brothers at the beginning of the year and their very public support of Harry had unleashed a drama, but that was nothing compared to how people were reacting right now, especially the Pure-Bloods and Half-Bloods. The Muggle-Borns were usually aware of only Sherlock because he was in the Muggle papers so often. But those of magical ancestry…especially the Pure-Bloods, now seemed almost deferential towards him. High-born students who had previously looked down upon him or treated him with slight contempt, now seemed to acknowledge his status. Could a mere surname added to his name bring about such a change? Was the name so important? And if it was, why had Sherlock granted it to him so easily?

“Answer me, Potter!” Malfoy yelled, shaking him.

Harry wrenched himself away from the Slytherin’s grasp.

“It’s none of your business, Malfoy,” he said quietly. “Why my family chose to do what it did is their personal matter.” A warm feeling engulfed him as he said “family”. He had a family now…and people who didn’t hate him.

Draco gaped at him.

Severus Snape chose that moment to turn up. He regarded the two boys with narrowed eyes.

“Is there a problem, Mr Malfoy, Mr Holmes?”

“N-no, Sir,” Draco said quickly and ran off.

Severus regarded Harry like Sherlock regarded a rotting corpse. Then he bade Harry to follow him to his office.

“What did Mr Malfoy want?” Severus asked as soon as he closed the door behind them.

“He wanted to know why I was taken in by the Holmes family,” Harry said quietly. “Apparently I’m not good enough for them.”

“Don’t be foolish, of course you are,” Severus snapped. The Potions Master looked even paler than usual and his eyes were shadowed.

Harry blinked. Was the man ill?

“Sir? Are you…?”

Snape grabbed his arm and collapsed into the chair behind him.

Harry did the first thing that came to his mind and texted Mycroft. Then he pulled out the mirror Sirius had given him and informed his godfather.

That is why Harry was surprised when Dumbledore was the first to arrive. The Headmaster shook the young professor gently. Snape opened his eyes.

“Severus, my boy,” Albus said quietly. “You must go back to him. Convince him you are a spy. You cannot ignore this anymore.”

Snape remained silent.

“Severus, we need you. Remember your promise,” Dumbledore said sternly.

Snape seemed to wilt.

“As always, Albus, you ask too much of your friends,” came Mycroft’s voice from the doorway. He was flanked by Sirius and Remus. “There is no point in sending Severus to his death. Voldemort is aware that Severus has sworn to protect my nephew.”

“We could gain important information…” Albus protested.

“You would have Severus torture and kill against his will? You would have Voldemort torture him to gain information on you?” Remus asked angrily.

“We are at war. Every war has its martyrs,” Albus replied sadly. “Severus is dear to me but…”

“…he is just a pawn in your game,” Sirius spat.

Harry stared at the adults, not really comprehending the situation.

Mycroft turned to his nephew. “Harry, could you please take Professor Snape to the infirmary? Sherlock should be arriving there in a few minutes.”

Harry stepped forward to assist Severus. The stoic man, however, grit his teeth against the pain and stood up by himself, albeit slightly unsteady. Harry hovered close. Snape strode out and Harry ran to catch up with him.

Sherlock was waiting for them just outside the Hospital Wing.

“Thank Merlin,” Snape murmured, as he spotted Sherlock. He staggered and Harry grabbed his arm.

The Dark Mark hissed angrily and Severus cried out in agony. “ _Master wants you dead_ ,” came the eerie whisper.

Harry couldn’t move. “ _Get out_ ,” he hissed in response, not realising he had switched to Parseltongue. Sherlock’s bees surrounded him protectively.

The Dark Mark coalesced into a thick, smoky form in front of them. The snake in the skull continued to hiss angrily, calling Snape a traitor to the Dark Lord and promising him a painful death.

“ _Shut up!_ ” Harry shouted. “ _He doesn’t belong to your master!_ ”

The smoky snake leapt forward at Harry, baring its fangs.

“ _Stay away from my son,_ _you vile excuse of a serpent_ ,” Sherlock’s sibilant whisper caused Harry to simultaneously feel warm with affection and cold with fear.

The snake recoiled. Snape attempted to push Harry away but Harry refused to let go of his teacher. The snake’s fangs sunk into Severus’ arm instead.

“ _Leave him alone!_ ” Harry yelled. His eyes flashed a brilliant green and a magnificent green phoenix appeared in front of him.

Sherlock smirked and put a gentle hand on the boy’s shoulder, pouring his magic into the child. The phoenix grew, its wings spouting silver feathers now.

“Go on, Harry, finish off the _Morsmordre_ ,” Sherlock said softly.

“ _Go back to your master, filthy snake_ ,” Harry hissed. “ _You will never touch my friend again._ ”

The phoenix charged and bit the serpent’s head off. The snake writhed and disappeared. The skull cracked and faded away. The phoenix trilled and settled on the boy’s shoulder.

Severus Snape pushed up his sleeve and found his arm smooth and unblemished. He looked up at his best friend’s only child.

“You have your mother’s eyes,” he whispered and fainted.

Sherlock rolled his eyes and conjured a stretcher.

“What just happened?” Harry asked his guardian.

Sherlock appeared pleased. “You broke the Dark Mark,” he told Harry, smiling proudly. “Also, our Parseltongue experiment was a success.”

“You called me your son,” Harry whispered, staring at the detective.

Sherlock flushed, then smiled. “So I did. Problem?”

Harry shook his head threw himself at Sherlock. “Can I call you Father, then?”

Sherlock smiled and patted the child’s hair. “Of course.”

XXX

“A war phoenix,” Mycroft said, eyeing the green bird on Harry’s shoulder. “I am most impressed, my dear nephew.” They sat in the Headmaster’s chamber.

The phoenix trilled.

“She says her name is Victoria,” Harry told his uncle. “And I am her pet wizard.”

Mycroft smiled. “Indeed.”

Fawkes swooped in, showing off his beautiful red and gold plumage, clearly trying to impress Victoria, who turned up her beak at him.

Harry laughed. “Don’t snub Fawkes. He’s saved my life before.”

The green bird perked up at that.

“How exactly did you break the Dark Mark, Harry?” Dumbledore asked, peering over his half-moon glasses.

Harry frowned. “I’m not really sure. It hissed at me, I hissed at it. Then it jumped from Professor Snape’s arm and solidified in the air – though it was sort of smoky. It tried to bite me, but Father shouted at it and Professor Snape pushed me away and got bitten instead. Then Victoria appeared and bit its head off.” He turned to Mycroft. “What is a war phoenix?”

“The most powerful warrior you can desire by your side,” Mycroft said enigmatically.

Sherlock and Sirius laughed.

“I’ll give you a book, Harry,” Remus said kindly. He turned to Severus, who slouched in a chair. “How are you feeling, Severus? Poppy didn’t want to let you out.”

“I’m fine,” the Potions Master muttered.

“You need rest,” Professor McGonagall snapped. “What were you thinking, Albus, pulling out the poor boy from the infirmary before he has recovered?” She glared at the Headmaster.

Victoria flew to Severus and shed a few tears on him. Then she flew to Mycroft and settled on his shoulder.

Mycroft’s eyes flashed as he stroked the bird. Several new blue feathers appeared on the phoenix.

“How did she get blue feathers just now?” Sirius asked. “Wasn’t she green and silver?”

“She was just green at first, then she got some silver ones,” Harry said.

Sherlock smiled. “Victoria was called forth by Harry’s magic, so she has the colour of his magic. I poured some of mine to assist my son against the serpent, so she got silver. My brother gave her some of his magic, so now she has blue, too. I have no doubt she will soon pick up other colours from those who love Harry. A war phoenix assimilates magic born of love, loyalty and dedication.”

Harry watched, awestruck, as Sirius held out his hand. Victoria flew to him, and gained some rich indigo feathers. Remus was next, and added some steel grey. Severus added black. Minerva added dark red.

Albus Dumbledore held out his arm, but Victoria refused to fly to him. She flew to Harry and trilled.

“Er, sorry, Professor, she says she can’t trust you yet,” Harry said. “She likes Fawkes, though.”

XXX

To everyone’s surprise, the war phoenix had taken a great liking to Severus Snape. She would often sit on his shoulder during class, even when Harry was at another lesson. Severus would never admit it publicly, but whenever he felt troubled or miserable, Victoria would immediately appear and refuse to leave him alone until his mood improved. Harry knew this, but wisely kept his silence.

Over the course of the next few weeks, Victoria gained chocolate brown feathers from Hermione, bright red from Ron, orange from Hagrid, khaki from John, gold from Emrys, purple from Arthur, turquoise from Mrs Holmes and copper from Mr Holmes. Even little Emma Rose gave her a couple of baby pink feathers. Surprisingly, when Hedwig and Victoria met for the time, they rubbed their beaks against each other. Hedwig’s eyes flashed and became flecked with green, and Victoria gained some snow white feathers. Finally, around Easter, Victoria allowed the Headmaster to add his pale blue magic to her plumage.

 


	15. The Dark Lord Rises

 

Ron Weasley was startled from his sleep by an awful noise. Realising what it was, he jumped out of bed and ran to his best friend’s.

“Harry! Wake up!” Ron grabbed Harry’s shoulders and shook him.

Harry keened pitifully, but didn’t wake up. Ron put a hand on his forehead. Harry was burning up…and his scar was bleeding. His phoenix appeared and cried over him, but even her tears had no effect.

“Victoria!” Ron cried. “Get Sirius! I’m taking him to the hospital wing!”

The phoenix disappeared. Ron quickly cast a feather-weight charm and picked up Harry in his arms.

“Graveyard…” Harry muttered. “Riddle…Little Hangleton…”

Ron ran as fast as he could.

***

Sherlock went limp in his captor’s arms. That gave John the opening he needed to shoot the despicable man – non-fatally, of course.

As the mafia boss clutched his shoulder and howled, his underlings fell apart like dominoes. Greg barged in and the criminals were secured.

“Don’t go running off by yourself, I said,” the Detective Inspector scolded. “John, I expected at least you to have more sense!”

“Sorry, Greg,” John said cheerfully. “You know how he is. But we’ll try and listen to you in the future. Right, Sherlock?”

The Consulting Detective didn’t move from where the mafia guy had dropped him. John and Greg knelt on the ground, concerned.

“Sherlock?” John called, shaking him gently. “Are you all right?”

Sherlock’s eyes snapped open, blazing silver. “Harry…” he whispered. John glimpsed a swarm of glowing bees appear and fly away.

John and Greg pulled him to his feet.

“We have to go to Harry,” Sherlock said. “George, inform my brother.”

“It’s Greg,” Lestrade replied automatically and watched the two madmen run off into the night. He sighed and pulled out his phone.

“Good evening, Detective Inspector,” Mycroft Holmes’ drawl was the same as ever. “How may I help you?”

“Sherlock said to tell you that he’s gone to Harry.”

Mycroft drew a sharp breath. “What happened?” he asked solicitously.

Greg told him the little he knew as quickly as he could. After all, a policeman couldn’t make the British Government wait, could he?

***

Sirius and Remus appeared in the Hospital Wing almost immediately after Ron and Harry. Sherlock’s bees buzzed around Harry, but for once, Harry would neither calm down nor awaken from his apparent nightmare. Madam Pomfrey pored over him, flicking her wand occasionally.

“What’s wrong with him?” Sirius asked.

The school nurse frowned, but before she could answer, Sherlock and John burst into the room.

Sherlock rushed to the bed and picked up Harry in his arms. “Get out, all of you,” he snapped. “John, keep everyone out except my brothers.”

Madam Pomfrey and Sirius opened their mouths to argue, but a quelling look from John silenced them. Sherlock held Harry close, his eyes flashing silver. A soft glow engulfed them. John silently ushered everyone towards the door.

“Get Snape to brew his special Cruciatus Pain Relief Potion,” Sherlock called behind their retreating backs.

“I’ll go to Severus,” Remus offered. John nodded and the werewolf left.

“How did you get here so fast?” Ron asked John. “It’s only been a few minutes, and Hermione says you can’t Apparate into Hogwarts.”

John shrugged. “Secret Holmesian magic, I suppose.”

“Or a father’s love,” came Dumbledore’s soft voice. “Mr Holmes seems to have broken through the school wards to get to Harry.” He frowned. “This should not be happening – Mycroft assured me that Lord Voldemort’s soul fragment had been exorcised from Harry.”

“It was,” John told him. “It most definitely was.”

Dumbledore sighed sadly. “Then it appears that the prophecy binds them in ways I cannot fathom.”

Mycroft and Emrys Apparated in front of them.

“Why are you not repairing the wards, Albus?” Mycroft demanded. “Get Minerva, Pomona, Severus and Filius and put them back up right now.”

“Sherlock asked Severus to brew his Cruciatus potion,” Sirius said mildly.

“Never mind the potion; I’ll take care of it,” Emrys said urgently. He looked up at the ceiling and called, “Fawkes!”

Dumbledore’s phoenix arrived immediately.

“Get the Heads,” Emrys told the bird. “Immediately.”

Dumbledore stared at the Holmes brothers.

“The wards take priority, Albus; I cannot hold it alone for much longer, and we need Emrys for Sherlock and Harry,” Mycroft said quietly. “Lord Voldemort has been revived with your blood instead of Harry’s, and I am afraid we were too late to stop the process.”

Fawkes appeared with Professors McGonagall, Snape, Sprout and Flitwick. The Potions Master clutched a vial to his chest. He thrust the vial at Emrys and muttered, “Cruciatus.”

“Repair the wards,” Emrys commanded. He placed a hand on Mycroft’s shoulder. “You can let go now.”

Dumbledore nodded at Mycroft and raised his wand. Emrys blinked at the sight of the wand, but did not comment. The four Heads joined the Headmaster.

Mycroft staggered a little, but Emrys held him up.

“Go in,” John said. “Sherlock said to let you two in and no one else.”

The Holmes brothers nodded solemnly and opened the doors. John turned to Sirius. “Perhaps you should take Ron to Gryffindor tower and update Remus.”

Sirius nodded and led Ron away. John sighed and leaned against the cold stone wall, wishing there was something he could do. He watched the five teachers hard at work, each of them paling rapidly at the massive amount of magical energy being spent in repairing the wards, and wondered once again how powerful the Holmes brothers were. Mycroft had Apparated in and held it aloft all by himself, barely breaking a sweat.

Sherlock looked up as his brothers entered the room. He held Harry close and both were enveloped in a silvery glow. Harry’s cries had reduced to whimpers by now. Victoria, who had been perched on Sherlock’s shoulder, immediately flew to them and landed on Mycroft’s shoulder. She bit his ear and cried.

Emrys strode to the bed and poured half the vial of Severus’ potion down the boy’s throat, then turned to Sherlock and did the same.

Sherlock spluttered.

“Voldemort is back,” Mycroft said quietly.

Sherlock sighed. “I thought as much. Are they repairing the wards? I am sorry I broke through, but…”

“No one is blaming you, Sherlock,” Mycroft said softly. “Your child was in pain and perhaps in mortal danger – you did what any parent would.” He pulled up a chair next to the bed and sat down, while Emrys wove a net of golden light around Sherlock and Harry.

“Was Harry a witness to the ritual?” Mycroft asked.

Sherlock nodded miserably. “I do not know the details, but he was in so much pain that I…” He hugged the boy tighter. “What do I do Mycroft?” he cried plaintively.

Mycroft, disconcerted at the self-proclaimed sociopath’s emotional outburst, moved to the bed and put an arm around his brother’s thin shoulders.

“We will get through this,” he promised firmly. “I give you my word, little brother.”

Sherlock rested his head on Mycroft’s shoulder and closed his eyes. Emrys and Mycroft exchanged a concerned look.

Mycroft raised his hand and brilliant blue joined Emrys’ gold and Sherlock’s silver. Harry’s emerald green suddenly burst into life with a blinding flash.

“You idiot!” Emrys shouted. “I told you not to!”

Mycroft smiled tiredly. “It worked, did it not, baby brother? Harry is waking up.”

Harry stirred and opened his eyes. Then blinked rapidly.

“Father? Uncle Mycroft? Uncle Emrys? What’s going on? Why are you here?”

“What do you remember, Harry?” Emrys asked softly, claiming a spot on the bed as well.

 Harry frowned. “Hermione, Ron and I were up late working on some assignments…then we went to bed as usual.” His eyes widened in horror. “I saw…”

Mycroft nodded grimly. “Voldemort is back.”

“But we do need the details from you,” Emrys said softly. “Have you ever heard of a pensieve, Harry?”

Harry shook his head and watched eagerly as Emrys summoned one. He showed the boy how to draw a memory from his mind and put it in. Then all four of them entered the bowl.

XXX

By the time the Holmes emerged from the pensieve, the warding had been completed, and Madam Pomfrey and John were tending to the Headmaster and the Four Heads, who were magically exhausted.

Harry trembled, and Sherlock immediately pulled him closer. The detective had not spoken a word or let go of Harry since the boy had woken up.

John came over to them and transfigured a couple of hospital beds into cozy couches. Once they were seated, he made all of them drink Pepper-Up potions.

“Thank you, John,” Mycroft said finally.

“How bad was it?” John asked quietly. “What do you need?”

“Bad enough that we need to teach Harry to shield his mind,” Emrys muttered. “Mycroft and I need to go to the Ministry right away, John. Could you take care of Sherlock and Harry for us? It would be best if the three of you returned to Baker Street for a couple of days. Victoria can take you – can’t you?” he directed the last part to the phoenix, who bobbed her head.

Mycroft went over to the teachers and spoke quietly to Dumbledore for a few minutes. John and Emrys shot him a worried look when he returned.

“Come on, Sherlock, Harry. Time to go home,” John said as cheerfully as he could.

Harry gave them a watery smile. Sherlock simply stood up mechanically, but did not let go of Harry’s arm. Mycroft sighed and pulled Sherlock into a protective hug. “Let go, Sherlock,” he said softly. “Emrys and I will help you put up a joint shield in Harry’s mind until he learns Occlumency. You can let go now, little brother.”

Sherlock nodded weakly and released Harry. Mycroft and Emrys patted their nephew’s head, and Harry felt a warm feeling envelope him.

Emrys hugged Sherlock and Harry. “Go home and rest, you two. Don’t trouble John too much.”

Harry smiled at him.

“We shall come by later,” Mycroft promised. “Let me know if there is anything you need.”

Victoria trilled from John’s shoulder. The doctor grabbed his detective and the young wizard. They disappeared in a flash of gold-green.

“Mind palace,” Sherlock snapped as soon as they appeared in 221B, and disappeared into his bedroom.

John took one look at Harry’s face, dragged him to the kitchen and made him a large mug of hot chocolate.

“Sorry,” Harry mumbled miserably.

John ruffled his hair affectionately. “Don’t worry about it, son. Sherlock’s off his rocker at the best of times, and he doesn’t do well when people he loves are in danger. He was spooked when you were in pain and he couldn’t make it go away. He’s not used to feeling helpless; makes him mad.”

Harry nodded silently, not really convinced. John’s mind recalled the Magnussen affair but he rapidly shoved it down – now was not the time for him to brood over past mistakes.

“Would you like to sleep? I’ll give you a Dreamless Sleep potion if you want,” John offered.

Harry shook his head.

John frowned. “If you’re worried about visions, don’t be. You have a tri-Holmes shield in your head now. A thousand Voldemorts won’t get through, trust me.”

“What’s Occlumency?” Harry asked, ignoring the response.

“It’s a method to resist Legilimency – that’s other people invading your mind and seeing your thoughts and memories. Really skilled Legilimens can even generate false memories and scenes.”

Harry looked horrified. “So, Voldemort has been reading my mind all this time?”

“I don’t think that’s likely,” John said calmly. “Sherlock reacts rather violently when someone tries to invade your mind – remember how he threw off Snape and Dumbledore? He probably feels it through your bond.”

“I’m too much trouble,” Harry whispered. “He must regret taking me in. I should have never let him…”

John smacked him lightly on the arm. “What a load of crap. Thought you were smarter, Harry.”

Harry refused to look at him.

John sighed. “Look, son, Sherlock adores you. Never doubt that. The bloke broke through the school wards to get to you. And don’t doubt his power, either. Besides, there’s Mycroft and Emrys.” He grinned. “I actually feel sorry for the poor Dark Lord. He won’t know what hit him.”

Harry gave the doctor a tentative smile.

“How about we treat ourselves to some feel-good snacks?” John asked.

Harry nodded.

John stood up. “Ah, yes, that reminds me - we should probably feed Sherlock as well. It’s been almost three days since he ate.”

Harry stared at John as he pulled out ingredients for a simple pasta from the fridge, then rushed to help him. The two of them cooked in comfortable silence, and soon enough, armed with a tray, they walked into Sherlock’s room.

Uncharacteristically, Sherlock was curled up on his bed.

John sighed. “He finally fell asleep…I don’t really want to wake him up, but…”

Sherlock whimpered in his sleep. John frowned and put down the tray.

“Sherlock?” he called softly. There was no response.

“Uncle John? What’s wrong?” Harry asked.

“I’m not sure,” John replied. “Step back, Harry. I’m going to run a diagnostic spell.”

Glowing red runes appeared in the air above Sherlock and John swore. He turned to Harry. “Are you in any pain?” he asked, eyeing him carefully.

Harry shook his head.

“Not even a twinge?”

Harry shook his head again.

John looked ready to explode. He grabbed the detective’s shoulders and shook him roughly.

Sherlock opened his eyes blearily.

“Sherlock, you idiot! Why didn’t you say something?” John yelled.

Sherlock blinked sleepily. “…John?”

“How many?” John demanded.

Sherlock simply looked confused.

“How many rounds of Cruciatus did you absorb?” John snapped.

Harry gasped behind him.

“I don’t know,” Sherlock said slowly. “Twelve…maybe fifteen. Victoria helped, she shed a lot of tears. And Emrys gave us Snape’s potion.”

John cursed again. “Despite that, you are still under the influence. I don’t have Snape’s potion – but I do have a couple of emergency battlefield spells that will keep you right until we get more of that potion. Why didn’t you tell me you were in pain, you git?”

A ghost of smile crossed Sherlock’s lips. “I am known to be indestructible, John.”

John resisted the urge to strangle him and quickly performed his spells. Immediately, Sherlock felt a lot better. He smiled at his doctor. “Thank you, John.”

“Next time, tell me before you collapse, bastard.”

Sherlock grinned. “Really, John, must you use such coarse language? What will our children learn?”

John couldn’t help his smile. He turned to Harry. “Sorry, son – just forget what I’ve been saying for the last fifteen minutes, yeah? And not a word to Emma Rose.”

Harry, however, was in no mood for mirth. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, his face pale and eyes dull. “It’s all my fault. I should have…” He slid down the wall and curled up on the floor, sobbing.

Sherlock and John were by his side in a flash.

“Of course it’s not your fault, child,” Sherlock said quietly.

Harry shook his head. “You suffered so much pain because I was too weak to hold it off or bear it. I’m useless,” he said miserably. “I can’t do anything right. Uncle Vernon was right – I’m a freak and I can only bring misfortune to those around me.”

Sherlock pursed his lips and John balled his hands into fists.

“I very much doubt Mr Dursley has been right about anything in his life, nephew mine,” came Mycroft’s cool drawl from the door. “And I can assure you that he was most certainly wrong about you.” He turned to John. “John, if you would, could you take Harry and set the table for six? I would like a word with my brother, and Emrys shall arrive in a few minutes with Arthur – and the potion Sherlock needs…and we could all do with some nutrition.”

John gaped at him. “You knew?”

Mycroft nodded curtly. He was saved from John’s wrath by the doorbell. It was one of Mycroft’s nameless minions with a _lot_ of food. John and Harry busied themselves in the kitchen.

Sherlock glared at his brother. Mycroft sighed.

“Really, little brother,” the British Government said. “Did you honestly think I would not know? Do you not sense Harry’s distress through his magic?”

Sherlock scowled. “I’m fine,” he said stubbornly.

Mycroft sighed again. “There is no need for you to be a martyr, little brother,” he said, with exaggerated patience. “We are perfectly capable of ridding ourselves of a semi-human Dark Lord.”

“What have you found out?” Sherlock snapped.

“He is in hiding. Emrys will scry him later, but we should let him be for now. It will be some time before he regains his strength, and his generous use of the Cruciatus immediately after reincarnation must have been draining. I do not think he will create an uproar until the Quidditch World Cup. We have a few months to prepare ourselves.”

“And what of Jim?” Sherlock asked.

Mycroft smiled dangerously. “Voldemort did attempt to withdraw his magic, but he was unsuccessful. Jim Moriarty lives on as long as we think he may be of some use.”

Sherlock smiled as well – his not-nice smile. “Jim may be useful. How are you keeping him under control?”

“I simply give him what he wants,” Mycroft said wryly.

Curiosity beset Sherlock. “What does he want? I thought he just wanted my attention.”

“Indeed, brother mine.”

Sherlock blinked. “Polyjuice?”

Mycroft smirked. “I don’t need Polyjuice to be my brother, Sherlock.”

Sherlock laughed. “Lucky Jim, getting personal attention from the British Government every day.”

“I aim to please,” Mycroft shot back. He cocked his head to the side. “I believe Emrys and Arthur have arrived. Time for the War Council, little brother.”

Mycroft held out his hand and Sherlock took it reluctantly, knowing he was not as steady on his feet at moment as he would like.

“Big brother to the rescue once again,” the detective muttered under his breath, drawing a sigh from Mycroft.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Voldemort’s revival is pretty much the same as in Goblet of Fire except that Wormtail uses Dumbledore’s blood instead of Harry’s, and there isn’t a Harry Potter tied to a gravestone – so I haven’t bothered to write it out again.


	16. The War Council

 

“Ah, this is so, sooooo good,” Arthur sighed, scraping up the last spoonful from his plate.

The three Holmes brothers, Harry, John and Arthur were spread out haphazardly on the floor around a cosy round table Arthur had conjured, despite Mycroft’s attempts to set up a “proper table”. The table was piled high with food.

“There’s plenty more,” Harry said mildly as Arthur helped himself to another generous helping. “Uncle Mycroft got enough to rival a Hogwarts feast.”

Mycroft flashed a self-satisfied smirk. Sherlock elbowed him. John glared at both and stabbed his broccoli moodily.

Emrys groaned. “Don’t encourage him, Harry. He’ll pig out and get sick.”

“Aw, Em, lemme eat,” Arthur replied with his mouth full. He swallowed happily and winked at Harry.

Harry could not help but smile back. Arthur’s cheer was infectious.

Arthur turned to John and clapped him on the back. “So, Three-Continents-Watson, what’s eating you?”

“Nothing,” John snapped.

Arthur grinned and eyed Sherlock’s plate. He leaned in and spoke to John in a stage whisper, “Your Holmes doesn’t eat much, either, eh? I wonder how they got so tall?”

“Heaven knows,” John grumbled. He reached out and dumped a generous portion of meat on Sherlock’s plate. “Eat,” he ordered, directing another stern glare at the detective.

Sherlock nodded meekly and obeyed.

Mycroft and Emrys exchanged a look.

“Are you still angry?” Harry asked John quietly.

John sighed. “Am I being unreasonable?”

“You are angry because you care about him,” Arthur chimed in. “It is perfectly normal. It gets on my nerves, too, how mine thinks he is both indestructible and expendable.”

“Mine isn’t any better than yours. Must be a Holmes gene,” John muttered.

Harry giggled. “Both of you sound like you are talking about your pets.”

That made the ex-soldiers laugh. Sherlock and Emrys glared at them.

Mycroft huffed, exasperated. “Shall we return to the matter at hand?” he interjected.

Everyone sobered immediately.

“You could have let us eat in peace,” Arthur grumbled. “What are you, the Ice Queen?”

Sherlock and John dissolved into peals of laughter. Arthur raised an enquiring eyebrow.

“Iceman, actually,” John told him. “Jim Moriarty calls him that.”

“Why?” Harry asked.

Five pairs of surprised eyes in the living room of 221B turned to the Boy-Who-Lived. Mycroft cleared his throat delicately.

Harry turned to his beloved uncle. “You are not cold,” he declared loyally. “You are the smartest and the nicest person I know.”

Mycroft turned red and everyone else gave up their attempt to hold in their laughter.

Emrys hugged Harry. “You are a delightful young wizard, Harry! I am so jealous Sherlock gets to keep you!”

Harry giggled as Emrys patted his hair.

Sherlock put down his plate and reached over to grab Harry. “That’s my son, baby brother. You won’t get him.”

John patted Sherlock affectionately. “Good boy, Sherlock.” The detective grinned at his doctor.

Arthur pulled Emrys to himself and patted him as well. “Don’t worry, Em, you’re a good boy, too.”

Harry patted Mycroft’s knee. “Uncle Mycroft is a good boy, too.”

Mycroft smiled shyly at his nephew. “What a wondrous child you are…Harry is the best boy of all.”

Emerald eyes sparkling, Harry asked, “Really? Uncle Vernon was wrong?”

Furious, Mycroft clenched his fists. “That obnoxious, pernicious, reprehensible, despicable ingrate!” he thundered.

“Just say ‘fucking asshole’, Mycroft,” John suggested. Emrys and Arthur giggled.

“Language, John,” Sherlock admonished mildly.

Mycroft ignored them. “Child, you have nothing to fear. I swear I shall not let that swine touch a hair on your head as long as I live.”

“Goodness, brother, are you drunk?” Sherlock asked, and burst out laughing.

“I do feel strangely mirthful,” Mycroft confessed with a smile.

Emrys snatched a glass and sniffed at it. “There’s a cheering charm in this lemonade,” he declared. “A rather potent one.” He proceeded to sniff every food and drink left on the table. “All of these are drugged. No wonder we are all so happy.”

Mycroft giggled. “ _Maman, n'est-ce pas? À chaque oiseau son nid est beau._ ”

Emrys nodded gleefully. “Yes, this has her magical signature all over. And you are definitely high, big brother, if you are lapsing into French.”

“ _La pomme ne tombe jamais loin de l'arbre_ ,” Sherlock muttered. “John, would you…?”

John nodded and raised his wand. “ _Finite_ -” he began, but Arthur clapped a hand over his mouth.

“It doesn’t harm us, does it?” he asked the Holmes brothers.

Emrys shook his head.

“Then let it be. It’ll wear out on its own, and I daresay all of us needed some cheer, even if it was artificially induced,” the once-and-future-king commanded.

“Cool,” Harry said. “You looked like a real king for a moment, Arthur.”

Arthur ruffled the boy’s messy hair. “I _am_ a king, my boy.”

“Yes, your majesty,” Harry intoned obediently.

Everyone burst out laughing.

“We shall be happy till the morning,” Emrys declared. “We may as well adjourn the War Council meeting for today and start afresh tomorrow.”

“War Council?” Harry asked, wide-eyed.

Sherlock ruffled his adopted son’s hair. “We did say we will take of Voldemort, didn’t we?”

Harry flung his arms around his guardian – no, his _father’s_ neck. “Thank you.”

“Fear not, Harry, you are ours to protect,” Emrys said, smiling broadly. “That’s what families are for.” Mycroft nodded sagely, his beatific smile eerily reminiscent of Dumbledore.

John, feeling that he was currently the sanest of the lot, conjured additional furniture and shooed everyone to bed.

XXX

Everyone woke up feeling refreshed the next morning. Harry wandered into the kitchen, hoping to find John and speak of Sherlock’s health. Instead, he found Mycroft in his shirtsleeves, preparing breakfast the muggle way.

“Good morning, Harry,” Mycroft greeted him warmly.

Harry stared at him. “You can cook? _You?_ ”

Mycroft smirked. “Is that such a surprise, nephew mine?”

Harry was saved from answering by Arthur’s appearance.

“Something smells good,” Arthur said and stopped short at the sight that met his eyes. Emrys, who was right behind him, bumped into him. The youngest Holmes brother sniffed appreciatively and sighed.

“It’s been years since we had your special crepes, big brother,” he told Mycroft.

John and Sherlock chose that moment to enter, and their reactions were the same as Arthur and Emrys, respectively.

“He used to love cooking before he decided he needed to lose weight and went on that silly diet of his,” Sherlock told Harry. “I think the crepes are for your sake, Harry. He refused to make them the last time I asked him to.”

Mycroft glared at his brother. “You were drugged out of your mind and vomiting blood, Sherlock. I was hardly going to make you crepes when my primary concern was your survival.”

Harry stared at the detective in horror.

“Great, thanks, Mycroft. Congratulations, you have successfully made my son think I am good-for-nothing junkie who is either suicidal or too stupid to figure out when he overdoses,” Sherlock snarled.

Mycroft sighed tiredly. “Really, Sherlock. You give Harry too little credit. And we all know you are clean.” He narrowed his eyes. “Are you not?”

“Of course I am!” Sherlock snapped. “There are two children in this house, for God’s sake! Even **_I_** am not that irresponsible, Mycroft!”

Mycroft smiled slightly. “Then it’s all fine, isn’t it, little brother?”

Sherlock looked ready to throw something at Mycroft’s smug face. Emrys stepped in skilfully and pulled Sherlock away with an excuse.

“We’ll set the table,” John said quickly and dragged Arthur away.

Mycroft sighed and returned to the crepes. Harry moved next to him quietly, offering to help. They worked silently. Arthur and Emrys returned a few minutes later and helped them to carry the food to the living room, where John had conjured a nice breakfast table with six seats. Sherlock was already seated. He caught Harry’s eye and patted the chair next to him.

Harry glanced up at Mycroft instead, ignoring the guilt welling up in him at Sherlock’s hurt expression. Mycroft smiled sadly and nudged him towards his father. “I am afraid I must depart, nephew mine,” he said softly. “I have things to attend to.”

Harry caught his arm. “You can leave after breakfast, Uncle Mycroft. It won’t take long. Or should I wrap a crepe for you to eat on the go?”

Mycroft blinked. “That would not be required, but thank you very much, Harry.”

Harry bit his lip.

“Weren’t we supposed to have a War Council meeting in the morning?” Arthur asked loudly. “We need you, guv.”

“I shall be back in an hour,” Mycroft promised.

Sherlock stood up abruptly and strode to his older brother. Wordlessly, the detective grabbed his brother’s arm and all but threw him onto a chair. “You are not leaving until you have eaten and we have discussed Voldemort. Your minions can handle your work for half a day,” Sherlock snapped. He turned to Harry. “Take a seat, child.”

“Stop fighting this early in the morning,” Emrys commanded. “You two are upsetting Harry.”

“My apologies,” Mycroft muttered.

Sherlock resumed his seat silently. Harry took a seat between them.

Mycroft sighed. “As I said last evening, I believe Lord Voldemort would not make any major moves until the Quidditch World Cup. However, he will soon realise that all his horcruxes have been destroyed, and he will seek to enhance his power immediately.”

“How?” John asked.

Mycroft and Emrys exchanged a meaningful look. “We believe he will attempt to acquire the Deathly Hallows.”

“What is that?” Harry asked. Sherlock quickly told him the story of the three brothers and the Elder Wand, the Ring of Resurrection and Death’s Cloak.

“So, we need to find them before Voldy does?” Arthur asked. “Do you guys have any idea where they are?”

“Two are in our possession,” Sherlock said softly. He looked up at Emrys. “Is the third one at Hogwarts?”

Emrys nodded.

Sherlock winced. “So Harry needs to…”

Emrys and Mycroft nodded.

Harry, John and Arthur stared open-mouthed at the three brothers.

“All right,” John said finally. “Will one of you stupid geniuses explain to the rest of us what you are trying to say?”

“The ring, John,” Sherlock said impatiently. “The ring horcrux is the Ring of Resurrection. Harry’s cloak is the other one.”

Harry started. “But…”

“That cloak has been in your family for generations, Harry,” Sherlock explained. “Demiguise fur does not last that long.”

“The Potters are descendants of the youngest Peverell,” Emrys added softly.

“And the Elder Wand is at Hogwarts?” John asked.

“It’s Dumbledore, isn’t it?” Harry said quietly. “It can’t be anyone else. He is the only one Voldemort fears.”

Emrys nodded. “I recognise his wand.”

“It is doubtful whether Lord Voldemort is aware of this fact, though,” Mycroft said. “If he had known, perhaps he would have attempted to acquire the wand much earlier.”

Sherlock hummed. “Voldemort was revived with Dumbledore’s blood. Will that impact the ownership of the wand? The blood had to be forcibly taken, isn’t it?”

Emrys rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “It is possible.”

“Hold on,” John said. “Isn’t the ownership of the Elder Wand transferred by killing the previous owner?”

Emrys laughed and shook his head. “Killing isn’t necessary. Humans are inherently violet beings and prefer gory tales, hence the modification.”

“So, if Harry simply disarms Dumbledore, the Elder Wand will recognise him?” John asked, incredulous. “And no one knows this?”

“Not exactly,” Emrys said, looking uncomfortable. “I will explain later.”

Arthur whistled. “There are benefits to having Merlin himself on our side, eh?”

The three brothers smirked.

“You know, it strikes me that you three could easily be the three brothers yourself – the invincible, the sentimental and the wise,” Arthur said.

“I am hardly invincible,” Mycroft said quietly.

“And I am hardly sentimental, as John will attest,” Sherlock added. “John calls me a machine.”

Harry glared at John and grabbed the detective’s sleeve. “You are not a machine,” he said firmly.

“Indeed,” Mycroft agreed. “Sherlock _feels –_ to a frightening degree. It is most worrisome.”

“No one denies that I am wise, though,” Emrys said lightly.

That drew a smile from everyone.

Mycroft cleared his throat. “If our hypothesis is correct, and the ownership of the Elder Wand shifted when Albus’ blood was taken, the title would have passed on to Dolores Umbridge, and then to myself. If we are incorrect, the ownership remains with Albus.”

Sherlock added, “As a measure of abundant caution, I suggest Harry defeat both Dumbledore and Mycroft in a duel. Would that suffice?”

Mycroft and Emrys nodded, and Harry looked horrified.

“How the _hell_ am I supposed to defeat Uncle Mycroft _and_ Dumbledore?” Harry exclaimed.

“It doesn’t need to be elaborate, Harry. _Expelliarmus_ or _Stupefy_ would work, I think,” Arthur suggested, looking to Emrys for confirmation, but the youngest Holmes sibling didn’t respond, seemingly lost in his thoughts.

“It will also stand you in good stead, for if Lord Voldemort does manage to get his hands on the Elder Wand, it will not obey him in a duel against you. His own wand would not work properly against you, either, since you share the same core,” Mycroft said.

Emrys blinked at Mycroft’s words, and nodded. “You could probably invoke _Priori Incantatem_ against Voldemort.” He glanced at his brothers. “There is another element we need to consider. Harry’s wand core came from Fawkes.”

Sherlock and Mycroft paled.

“Are you sure?” John asked.

Emrys nodded.

“So Voldemort’s wand has a tail feather from Dumbledore’s familiar, and now he’s been revived with Dumbledore’s blood?” John said. “What does that mean for us?”

“His resurrected form would be stronger than we previously imagined,” Mycroft said tiredly.

“But it’s still better than Harry’s blood, isn’t it?” Arthur enquired.

“Of course,” Emrys said immediately. “That would have been the most potent.”

“We need to move quickly, Mycroft,” Sherlock said quietly. “Can you shift the Elder Wand’s ownership to yourself properly?”

Emrys nodded thoughtfully. “That would make things easier. Harry is unlikely to be able to gather the required _mens rea_ at the moment.”

Mycroft blinked slowly. “Kill or defeat?”

“Defeat with the intent to kill should suffice,” Emrys said absently.

“I understand,” Mycroft said softly. “I shall take care of it today.”

“I don’t understand,” Harry said. “What do you mean, intent to kill?”

Emrys sighed. “It is not good enough to simply disarm or defeat the owner of the Elder Wand in a friendly duel. You must cast you spell with the intent to kill or at least seek to harm with the intent to kill.”

Harry, John and Arthur stared at him, horrified.

“Mycroft is the only one who can control his emotions adequately to be able to do that right now, I’m afraid,” Sherlock muttered. “The Iceman does have his uses.”

Mycroft rolled his eyes.

“Will you be in danger?” Harry asked anxiously, tugging at Mycroft’s sleeve.

The Holmes brothers laughed.

“Not in the least,” Emrys assured Harry. “Don’t worry, kid.”

“Shouldn’t we also get Harry another wand which will actually work against Voldemort?” John asked.

Sherlock shook his head. “He won’t need one.”

“Why?” John asked.

Emrys nodded cheerfully. “We will teach him wandless magic. Wands can be lost, destroyed, stolen or disarmed easily.” He patted Harry sympathetically. “You’ll have to work more than usual, kid.”

“I would be happy to,” Harry replied, eager to learn from his father and his uncles.

“I shall arrange for Harry to stay here for a few days before he needs to return to Hogwarts,” Mycroft offered. “Sherlock and Emrys can start with the basics. I will be back in the evening with better news, hopefully.”

Emrys hugged Mycroft. “Good luck, big brother.”

Harry, John and Arthur wished him, too.

Sherlock stepped forward as Mycroft picked up his coat.

“ _Bon chance, mon frère_ ,” he whispered.

Mycroft smiled. “ _Merci,_ little brother.”


	17. The Elder Wand

 

Atop the Astronomy Tower, Albus Dumbledore and Mycroft Holmes faced each other. There were no witnesses to their encounter, but had there been any spectators, they would have seen the electricity crackling around the two wizards.

“Albus,” Mycroft said pleasantly. “I do not understand why you would take such offence to my words.”

Victoria trilled behind him, spreading out her magnificent wings.

Dumbledore visibly fought to bring his temper under control. Finally, he smiled kindly at the younger man, and Fawkes hovered near his shoulder. “I am too old for you, my dear Mycroft. And while I am very flattered by your attention, it does not suit you to court a wizard old enough to be your grandfather.”

Mycroft blushed and was immediately annoyed with himself. He had intended to provoke the Headmaster when he had walked into his chamber and demanded to see his wand. Dumbledore’s furious outburst had shattered several of his delicate glass instruments before Fawkes and Victoria had turned up and relocated the two wizards.

“Vulgarity does not suit you, Albus,” Mycroft said. “I merely wish to confirm if that is the Elder Wand.”

Dumbledore smiled again, but his eyes were cold. “Really, Mycroft, this is insulting. Who is being vulgar now? I am certain even you can think of a better innuendo.”

Mycroft regained his composure instantly. He had been thrown off balance for a while by Albus’ reaction (and he certainly did not wish for things to be awkward), but now he knew the game of distraction Albus had begun. He smiled to himself. There was nothing more stimulating than a clever adversary, after all.

“ _Stupefy_ ,” Dumbledore said.

Mycroft put up a shield reflexively, surprised. He knew Dumbledore had no need for incantations, so he had clearly said it out loud to warn Mycroft. He narrowed his eyes. What was the old wizard thinking?

“I am not yet ready for death, my friend,” Dumbledore said quietly. “I am afraid I cannot hand over the wand to you.”

Mycroft arched an eyebrow. Ah, so Dumbledore was under the impression that the ownership of the wand would only shift upon his death. No, that could not be correct – Dumbledore had not killed Grindelwald when he had taken it.

“I have no need for the Elder Wand, Albus,” Mycroft assured him. “In fact, I believe there is no better owner for it than you. I merely wish to confirm if the one in your hand is actually the Elder Wand.” He summoned all the killing intent he could muster, pointed his own rarely-used wand nestled in his pocket at Dumbledore and whispered, “ _Expelliarmus_.”

The Elder Wand shot out of the Headmaster’s hand and into Mycroft’s waiting one. Dumbledore would think of it as wandless magic, which suited Mycroft just fine. Mycroft examined the exquisitely crafted wand and felt its alluring power respond to him. Yes, this was certainly the original, and he felt the wand’s loyalty shift as clearly as if the wand had spoken to him. _Serve Albus as you have until I call upon you_ , he thought, and he felt the wand agree, albeit grudgingly. He handed it back to Dumbledore silently.

Dumbledore sighed, exhaustion lining his aged face. Fawkes landed on his shoulder and nipped his ear gently.

“I took it when I defeated Grindelwald,” he said softly.

Mycroft nodded. “I am truly glad that you did, Albus. I cannot imagine a better owner for one of the Deathly Hallows.”

Dumbledore smiled slightly. “The infamous Holmes brain, indeed. I do not know if it is good or bad that your family returned to the wizarding world, Mycroft.”

“I believe it is good for Harry,” Mycroft said sharply.

“Indeed,” Dumbledore said. “So, you believe that Lord Voldemort will attempt to acquire the Deathly Hallows?”

“Surely you agree?”

Dumbledore nodded.

“We shall rely on you to keep the wand safe, then,” Mycroft told him. “We shall enhance the protection for the other two.”

“Thank you,” the Headmaster said. “How is Mr Potter doing?”

It was Mycroft’s turn to sigh. “He shall require a few days to recover. Witnessing the Dark Lord’s resurrection and being forced to bear the agony of numerous rounds of the Cruciatus has been a little too much for the child. Physically, he should be fine by this evening, but…”

Dumbledore’s face was a picture of guilt and grief. “I understand. He has my permission to recuperate at home until he is ready to return.”

Mycroft thanked him. “We intend to teach him the basics of Occlumency, at least until we can figure out why he is still connected to Lord Voldemort. Could you arrange for his lessons to continue at school, Albus? We shall leave a residual shield in his mind until he is able to create one himself, but the sooner Harry is able to, the better.”

Dumbledore beamed at him, his approval clear. “Excellent,” he said. "I shall speak to Severus immediately.”

Mycroft returned his smile with one of his own. Professor Snape was smart, resourceful and still in love with Lily Potter. Now, if only his nephew could present himself more as his mother’s son than his father’s…but perhaps such duplicity would be beyond the child at the moment. Maybe he could get Emrys to fix the boy’s eyes. The visual impact would be significant…and really, why should a magical child need glasses, and such unfashionable ones at that?

“There is also the issue with the Ministry,” Dumbledore said. “There is dissent about Lord Voldemort’s return, and though it is not in my place to interfere, Kingsley asked me for advice.”

Mycroft waved away the Headmaster’s concern. “The Ministry can play the ostrich as long as they wish. It would not impact us at the moment. I will ensure we get the required support from the Ministry when we need it. In any event, we believe Lord Voldemort would not take any major action until the World Cup. Surely you agree, Albus?”

Dumbledore nodded wearily. “I do, Mycroft, but an old man worries. Azkaban…”

“Emrys will know if the Dementors defect,” Mycroft declared. “As for the Tri-Wizard Tournament…”

“I have requested Alastor to take up Defence Against the Dark Arts for the coming year,” Albus said. “I am reinstating the Order of the Phoenix, and Sirius and Remus will be busy with that.”

Mycroft frowned. “They should stay close to Harry, Albus.”

“We do not have the luxury of choice, Mycroft,” Dumbledore said tiredly. “Sirius has also kindly offered us the use of his family house as headquarters.” He smiled slightly. “I believe Harry is well-protected by his new family.”

Mycroft did not bother to argue, immediately working out alternative protection at Hogwarts for his nephew. Albus, great as the man was, had a tendency to take risks. Ordinarily, Mycroft would neither care nor interfere, but since Harry was involved, he would hardly stand for removal of guardians with absolute loyalty to his nephew.

Victoria trilled and landed on Mycroft’s shoulder. He stroked her absently.

“Very well,” Mycroft said finally. “You will keep me updated on the heroic quests you send off my nephew’s godfather to, won’t you, Albus?” His eyes flashed a bright blue.

Albus Dumbledore nodded silently. It would be unwise to refuse the eldest Holmes brother, after all.

***

An exhausted Mycroft returned to 221B Baker Street well after dinner time.

“Where have you been?” Sherlock demanded as soon as he stepped in.

“Apologies, brother mine.” Mycroft sighed and dropped onto the couch. “It has been a long day. You would know why if you followed muggle news today.”

Sherlock shook his head impatiently. “Forget about that. Were you able to deal with the Elder Wand?”

Mycroft smirked. “Of course.”

“Details, now.”

Harry stepped into the room with a tray. “Let him off for a minute, Dad,” he scolded. “He looks dead on his feet.” He turned to Mycroft and grinned. “Tea and sandwiches for you, Uncle Mycroft.”

“He’s on a diet,” Sherlock muttered, caught between joy at being called ‘Dad’ and annoyed at being scolded because of Mycroft.

“It’s low-fat,” Harry told the detective. “Besides, Uncle Emrys said we should wait until they returned.”

Mycroft smiled indulgently and bit into a sandwich. He listened to Harry speak of his day at home until Emrys, Arthur and John came back with an alarming number of shopping bags.

“What on earth have you been buying?” Sherlock asked incredulously.

“Harry can’t swim, Sherlock,” John replied patiently. “We are taking him out for swimming lessons until he needs to return to Hogwarts.”

“I am not letting you take him to a public pool,” Sherlock snapped. “That is repulsive!”

“I must agree with my brother, Dr Watson,” Mycroft drawled.

Sherlock and Mycroft had an identical look of disgust on their faces. Harry, whose face had lit up at John’s words, looked resigned.

“However,” Mycroft continued. “You are welcome to use my pool. It is not very big, but it should suffice for swimming lessons.” He turned to Sherlock. “Should I arrange for an instructor or would you rather teach Harry yourself?”

“I’ll teach him, of course,” Sherlock said, sniffing haughtily. “I am better than you or Emrys.”

“I’ll help you,” John added quickly. Sherlock’s eyes had a dangerous gleam.

Harry grinned ear-to-ear.

Emrys clapped his hands. “Sorry, guys, but we need to speak of the Elder Wand.” He looked at Mycroft. “Any trouble, big brother?”

Mycroft smirked. “The ownership has been transferred successfully. I do not believe Albus is aware of it yet. I have instructed the Elder Wand to continue serving him until called upon. I do not believe there shall be any issues unless he attempts to harm me or any of my blood.” He smiled at Harry. “Yes, nephew mine, that includes you, thanks to Sherlock.”

He went on to summarise his visit to Dumbledore.

“Will Sirius and Remus be in danger?” Harry asked quietly.

Mycroft sighed. “Perhaps,” he replied. “However, you have my word that I shall try my best to protect them both, Harry.”

Harry nodded stoically.

“And what about Harry’s protection at Hogwarts?” Sherlock asked. “We can’t leave him unsupervised. Someone reliable needs to be close at hand. Someone with personal loyalty to Harry.”

“I don’t need–” Harry began, but was stopped by a glare from Sherlock.

Emrys chewed on a biscuit slowly. “Sirius and Remus stay on until the end of term, right?”

Mycroft nodded.

“It is reasonable to expect that Voldemort will make his next move at the Quidditch World Cup,” Sherlock said. “After that, since the Tri-Wizard Tournament is being revived and Hogwarts is hosting it, does it not make more sense to keep Sirius and Remus at hand, especially since Durmstrang’s Headmaster used to be a Death Eater?”

Mycroft shrugged. “I do agree with you, Sherlock. However, I believe alternate arrangements for Harry’s safety can be made. After all, you insist on taking Harry to the Quidditch World Cup, despite the risks.”

Harry’s jaw dropped and he turned to Sherlock. “We are going for the Quidditch World Cup?” he asked, emerald eyes wide.

Sherlock glared at Mycroft. “Thanks for ruining the surprise, brother.” He smiled at Harry. “Yes. John has been in touch with your friends’ parents as well.”

Harry squealed and flung himself at his adoptive father. “Thank you!”

Sherlock ruffled his hair affectionately.

“Hang on,” John said. “What’s this about revival of the Tri-Wizard Tournament? Didn’t a student _die_ last time? Why on earth are they doing it again? And at Hogwarts?”

“International magical cooperation, John,” Sherlock replied.

“Albus is not wrong in wishing to strengthen international friendships, and there will be some safety measures such as a minimum age for participation,” Mycroft said. “However, as Sherlock pointed out, Headmaster Igor Karkaroff is a former Death Eater. He sold out his fellow Death Eaters last time, though, so he is hardly likely to be on Lord Voldemort’s Christmas list. Quite the contrary; I believe he will seek sanctuary with us.”

“Can’t trust a traitor,” Arthur muttered.

Emrys nodded thoughtfully. “Can you arrange for Arthur and I to join Hogwarts, Mycroft?”

The British Government smirked. “Of course, baby brother.”

Sherlock grinned at his younger sibling. “If you intend to replay our Beauxbatons Grand Fountain, do let me know.”

“Absolutely not!” Mycroft snapped. “I had to spend a week in France cleaning up your mess!”

“But it was fun, Mycroft,” Emrys whined, giving his brother a lop-sided grin. “It’ll be a good welcome gift for Olympe.”

“We are attempting to _promote_ international cooperation, baby brother, not _annihilate_ it.” Mycroft sighed dramatically.

Sherlock and Emrys winked at each other.

“Ok, now I am curious – what the hell did you two do?” Arthur asked.

Emrys blew a raspberry at the Once and Future King in response.

“Oh, come on, we know those Holmes genes; you are dying to tell us!” John said, elbowing the Consulting Detective. “That’s the frailty of genius, John, it needs an audience,” he mimicked.

“We should not corrupt my son, John,” Sherlock replied sanctimoniously.

Arthur waved a dismissive hand. “He’s got Marauder blood, he’ll be fine. Now, spill.”

Harry laughed. “I want to know, too!”

Sherlock and Emrys started speaking at the same time. Mycroft sighed.

“Allow me to narrate,” the eldest Holmes said. “But everyone goes to bed after this. Promise?”

“Promise,” everyone intoned.

“Well, then. It was Emrys' third year and Sherlock’s last year at Beauxbatons…”

Mycroft spoke softly, weaving a sleeping spell into his words. Within five minutes, everyone was asleep.

“You tricked us, Uncle Mycroft,” Harry muttered sleepily. “Not fair. Good night. Sweet dreams.”

Mycroft smiled fondly as he relocated everyone to their beds. He lingered over his nephew for a few moments, and then tucked him in the muggle way.

“Good night, child,” he said softly and Disapparated.

 


	18. The Power He Knows Not

 

Harry had managed to learn basic swimming in a few days and was quite pleased with his progress. Given that Sherlock, Emrys and John spent more time arguing amongst themselves on the best way to teach him rather than _actually_ teaching him, he thought he was doing just fine. Most of the _real_ lessons had come from Arthur. Mycroft had looked in a couple of times – it was his house, after all.

His sessions on wandless magic were much better. According to Emrys, Harry had a natural affinity for magic, and his magical core was really strong – plus, his innate talent had been enhanced by the Holmes bond. Unsurprisingly, Mycroft was the best teacher amongst them, and John and Arthur queued up to learn a few tricks as well.

His Occlumency lessons, on the other hand, were an unmitigated disaster. Harry simply could not ‘empty his mind’ as the Holmes brothers kept telling him. After one particularly gruelling session, when Harry was nearly in tears and Mycroft, who had been instructing him, remarked, “Harry, you need to empty your mind. Unless you do that, we cannot progress. Are you unable to do so?”

Harry bowed his head, ashamed to have tears running down his cheeks. “I’m sorry,” he said softly. “I don’t know how to do that.”

Alarmed at the child’s distress, Mycroft knelt before the boy and peered at his face. “What’s wrong?” he asked, cupping Harry’s face gently.

“I don’t know how to empty my mind,” Harry cried. “I’m sorry. It’s been three days and Daddy and Uncle Emrys and you keep telling me to do that and I don’t know how and I…”

Mycroft pulled the boy into a hug and stroked his back, reminded of a similar incident twenty years ago when he had the same conversation with a child Sherlock.

“There is no need for you to apologise, nephew mine,” he said quietly. “It is our fault for not explaining things properly. Sherlock had the same problem when he was learning Occlumency.”

Harry blinked, unable to believe that his brilliant father could ever have difficulty learning something. “He did? Really?”

Mycroft laughed. “Ah, don’t tell Sherlock I told you that.”

“Don’t tell me what?” Sherlock asked from the doorway. He strode in, furious. “What did you do to Harry? Why is he crying?” he demanded angrily.

“I don’t know how to empty my mind,” Harry said in a small voice.

Sherlock stared at him. “Is that all?”

Mycroft stood up and turned to Sherlock. “We should have explained it to him before we started,” he said firmly. “Harry cannot learn if we do not give him proper explanations and instructions.”

“Yes, of course,” Sherlock said absently, still staring at Harry. “Is that really what upset you, Harry? Such a small thing?”

Harry flushed and looked up at the detective. “I didn’t want to let you down.”

Sherlock’s mouth dropped open in shock. “How on earth did you come to that moronic conclusion?” he demanded. “You are a child, Harry, no matter how powerful you are. You cannot possibly expect to master Occlumency in three days! It takes years for average wizards – and even with your exceptional talents, it will still take several months.”

Harry blinked. “You are not disappointed in me?” he asked quietly.

“Why would I be? You have done nothing wrong. Mycroft is right, much as I hate to admit it. We should have told you how to empty your mind instead of issuing vague instructions,” Sherlock told him, and then turned to Mycroft. “Explain it to him like you did to me when I had the same problem.”

Harry giggled suddenly and Mycroft smiled. Sherlock stared them, perplexed.

“Your son finds it difficult to believe that his clever father ever had trouble with Occlumency, little brother,” Mycroft told him.

Two red spots appeared on Sherlock’s pale cheeks. “Never mind,” he said. “Go away, Mycroft. I’ll teach Harry myself, after all.”

That drew a fond laugh from Mycroft. He ruffled Harry’s hair, then did the same to Sherlock and bid them farewell.

“I am far from infallible, Harry,” Sherlock said quietly, when the door closed behind Mycroft. “And I am not disappointed in you. Quite the contrary.”

Harry beamed at him.

“Come on, then,” the detective said. “I’ll explain properly this time.”

\---

Harry returned to Hogwarts after a week with several changes. Emrys had healed his eyes, so his glasses were gone. Sherlock, claiming that he was fed up with Harry’s unruly hair, had taken him to a fancy hair-stylist and gotten him a makeover. The new hairstyle complemented his bone structure and highlighted his emerald eyes no longer hidden behind glasses. Mycroft had also given him a gold ring with the Holmes insignia, which he now wore on the little finger of his left hand. His posture, too, had been changing little by little since Sherlock had taken him in – thanks to all the physical training and exercises John and Arthur put him through, and his magical aura had become much stronger, thanks to the Holmes brothers. Most of all, having a family that adored him so had boosted his self-esteem and self-confidence. He walked straight now, with his chin up and eyes ahead, while Victoria perched on his shoulder. With all these things taken together, when Harry entered the Great Hall at breakfast with Mycroft standing behind him and Sherlock, John, Emrys and Arthur flanking him, he looked like a proper young lord of the noble Holmes lineage. So much so that no one recognised him. Well, almost no one.

Excited whispers broke through the Great Hall, debating his identity. Hermione, perhaps the only one who had recognised him on sight, walked up to him and gave him a hug.

“Welcome back, Harry,” she said, smiling. “How are you feeling now?”

“Much better,” Harry replied. “Thanks, Hermione. It’s good to be back.” 

The mutterings intensified. _Did she say ‘Harry’? Merlin’s beard, that’s Potter..?! How’d he get so good-looking? _Some of the words floated to Harry’s ears and he blushed. Mycroft’s hand on his shoulder squeezed gently.

Dumbledore looked quite shocked at Harry’s new appearance, and Snape was staring at him with a strangely wistful look on his face – no doubt remembering Lily Potter. Sirius and Remus practically ran to them and hugged Harry.

“You are certainly your mother’s son,” Remus whispered softly.

“I never realised what a beautiful child my godson was,” Sirius remarked. “We must get you a new wardrobe, Harry!”

Sherlock smirked and Harry blushed shyly.

Ron came up next and clapped him on the back. “Welcome back, mate,” he said. “Merlin’s hairy balls, I almost didn’t recognise you!”

Emrys choked and Arthur laughed.

“Language, Ron,” Hermione scolded.

Ron ignored her and eyed Harry dubiously. “But why do you look like a stuck-up prick?” he demanded.

Harry flushed. “Is it weird?”

“Yeah, definitely,” Ron muttered while Hermione said at the same time, “No way, you look amazing!”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Don’t listen to Ron. He’s just jealous because you look so good.”

Hagrid approached them, picked up Harry and enveloped him in a crushing hug. “’Tis good to have yeh back, ‘Arry. Yeh look jus’ like Lily used to – if yer hair was red, yeh’d be ‘er twin brother!”

“Thanks, Hagrid,” Harry said.

Dumbledore stood up and held up his hand. The room fell silent slowly. Sirius, Remus and Hagrid returned to the staff table. Ron and Hermione, however, stood with Harry.

“Welcome back, Mr Potter-Holmes,” Dumbledore announced. “We are glad to see you recovered. If you would take your place at the Gryffindor table along with your friends, I would like to have a word with your guardians.”

Harry looked up at Sherlock, who nodded and hugged him.

“Take care, son,” Sherlock said, kissing his brow.

Mycroft, Emrys, John and Arthur did the same.

Flushed with happiness and embarrassment in equal measures, Harry headed to the Gryffindor table with Ron and Hermione.

“What was that demonstration all about?” Ron whispered as soon as they were seated. “Aren’t they fairly reserved in general? Why were they suddenly behaving like my mum?”

Hermione narrowed her eyes. “Did Dumbledore do something again?” she asked Harry.

“He’s sending Sirius and Remus away,” Harry said quietly.

“What?! Why?” Ron cried.

Hermione shushed him. She nodded thoughtfully, rubbing her chin. “So that’s why the public display of affection…to reiterate that the Holmes family stands with you – and a warning to those that would seek to harm you.”

Harry nodded absently as his eyes followed his family being led out by Dumbledore, McGonagall and Snape. Sirius and Remus joined them. As soon as they left, the Great Hall burst into noisy conversations. Half of Gryffindor House descended upon Harry, clamouring for information.

Oliver Wood pushed everyone away from Harry. “Tell me we have our Seeker back for the final,” he demanded, his nose almost touching Harry’s.

“You do,” Harry replied, grinning. “And I’m back with a Firebolt.”

“The one Sirius gave you for Christmas?” Ron asked. “Wicked!”

Oliver looked ready to kiss Harry. “Practice, today, 6 PM,” he gasped, and rushed away, presumably to book the field for practice.

“Must be nice, being doted upon by the Holmes family. Did you play your poor, pitiable, orphaned-boy card, Potter?” came a snide voice that could only belong to one person in the school.

Harry smirked, looking just like Sherlock for a second. “Why, Malfoy, are you jealous?”

Malfoy spluttered in rage. “Do you even know anything about pureblood pride, you filthy half-blood?!”

Harry smiled tightly and stood up, his eyes glowing. Victoria trilled and spread her wings, her beautiful plumage drawing quite a few exclamations of awe.

Malfoy’s eyes widened. “That’s a war phoenix.”

“Yes,” Harry said.

“Yours?” Malfoy asked.

Victoria let out an indignant sound and bit Harry’s ear. Harry laughed affectionately and stroked her soft feathers. “Yes, yes, I know,” he told her. He turned to Malfoy and said, “She says I’m her wizard.” He stepped forward and grabbed Malfoy’s hand. “Come with me. We clearly need to talk.”

Dumbfounded, Malfoy could only follow as Harry led him by the hand to an empty classroom. Ron, Hermione, Crabbe and Goyle followed hastily.

“What exactly is your problem with the Holmes family taking me in?” Harry asked quietly when the six of them filed into the empty room and closed the door behind them.

Draco sneered at him. “The Holmes family has stayed out of magical affairs for centuries, even though they are direct descendants of…”

“…Merlin and Vernet,” Harry finished. “Yes, I know.”

“And now, suddenly, because of you, they are back, and throwing their weight about everywhere, disrupting Ministry affairs, causing trouble…” Draco glared at Harry. “Why did Sherlock Holmes adopt you? He had abandoned the magical world when he left Beauxbatons and was living as a muggle.”

Harry sighed. “My aunt’s family beat me nearly to death and dumped me in an alley in London, thinking I had died. Some people from Dad’s homeless network saw it happen and informed him. He turned up with John, and they saved my life. Sherlock – Dad – used _Force majeure magica_.”

Draco and Hermione gasped, while the others looked blank.

“Consequently, my magic recognised him as my guardian. Uncle Mycroft took us to his house, and I recuperated there. He threw my aunt and uncle into jail. Uncle Emrys visited soon after. I had nowhere else to go, and Sherlock took me in since we were already magically bonded. Then we realised that Sirius – my Godfather – has been imprisoned in Azkaban for twelve years on false charges. They investigated and gathered evidence and got him released. Many things have happened since then, and before I knew it, we were already a family. At Christmas, they made me the official heir of the Holmes family and granted me the use of their name.” Harry looked down, blinking rapidly. “You have no idea how lucky you are, Malfoy – to have parents that love you unconditionally. The only memory I have of my parents is Voldemort killing them. I was brought up by relatives who hated magic and told me I was an unnatural freak on a daily basis. I was punished if I even uttered the word ‘magic’. But still, I am really thankful that they almost killed me, because it brought me to the Holmes family, and I have never been happier in my life.”

Ron and Hermione scrubbed at their eyes, and Draco was impossibly pale.

“You were nearly killed by… _muggles_?” he whispered. “Your mother’s relatives…?”

Harry shrugged. “Honestly, I’m surprised it took them so long. It had to happen sooner or later. They never wanted me, after all. Dumbledore dropped me on their doorstep with nothing but a letter the day my parents died.”

Draco stared. “And you still support Dumbledore?”

Harry shrugged again. “He did what he thought was best. Everyone makes mistakes. Besides, we need him now more than ever. Voldemort has returned – I am sure you know that by now, don’t you? That is why I was sick.”

Draco, Crabbe and Goyle nodded slowly. “The Dark Lord summoned our parents and tortured them for not finding him sooner.”

“I know,” Harry said softly. “I saw it all.”

“Will you still stand with Dumbledore and fight to save muggles? Even though they nearly killed you?” Draco demanded.

Harry sighed. “Malfoy – Draco – look, it’s just my relatives who were like that. There are plenty of really nice muggles out there. Hermione’s parents, the people that work with Sherlock – it is unfair to dismiss an entire population as bad just for a few evil ones, isn’t it? Voldemort himself is a half-blood, did you know? His father was a muggle.”

The three Slytherins stared at him open-mouthed.

“Is that true?” Draco asked urgently.

Harry smirked. “My father is the best detective out there, you know. Voldemort used to be Tom Marvolo Riddle. His mother was of the Gaunt family – the last of Slytherin’s descendants, and his father was a handsome muggle she fell for. She died in childbirth and he was sent to a muggle orphanage. He lived there until he came to Hogwarts, and went back there every summer until he graduated.”

“We have to tell Professor Snape,” Goyle said.

“He already knows,” Harry told them.

“But he’s a Death Eater, too!” Crabbe exclaimed.  

“Shut up, you idiot,” Draco hissed.

“He isn’t anymore,” Harry said quietly. “I broke his Dark Mark.”

Draco’s eyes shone with hope. “How?” he demanded. “How did you do that?”

Harry shrugged nonchalantly. “I hissed at the snake and Victoria bit off its head.”

“It is a matter of whose command is more powerful,” Hermione interrupted. “Don’t be so modest, Harry.”

“Do you mean to say that Potter is a more powerful Parselmouth than the Dark Lord?” Crabbe asked Hermione.

“Isn’t that already clear?” Ron replied instead. “Harry’s been kicking Voldemort’s ass pretty much every time he attacks Harry.”

“So you can break anyone’s Dark Mark?” Goyle asked.

Harry shrugged. “I don’t know. Probably. Uncle Mycroft thinks so, but I’ve been forbidden to act unless Dad or Uncle Emrys are present.”

“They are very protective of you,” Draco observed.

Harry nodded, blushing a little. Hermione glared at Malfoy. “Would your parents let you do something dangerous without supervision?” she challenged.

Draco shrugged elegantly. “Touché, Granger.” He turned to Harry. “If – hypothetically – certain Death Eaters wished to defect…would you be willing to break their Dark Marks?”

“I don’t mind,” Harry said. “But you’ll have to ask them to speak to Uncle Mycroft first.”

Draco’s eyes widened. “Lord Holmes himself? Not your adoptive father?”

Harry laughed. “Do people actually call him that?”

Draco huffed indignantly. “Of course, we do. It is his proper title.”

“He’s a peer in the muggle world, too, Harry – didn’t you know?” Hermione asked.

Harry shook his head. “I know he’s important because of his work…I didn’t know he had a title as well.”

“He likes being in the shadows,” Hermione said. “Sherlock said that he has no ambition and no energy and that he will not even go out of his way to verify his own solution, and would rather be considered wrong than take the trouble to prove himself right.”

Harry laughed heartily. “Uncle Mycroft says he lives in a world of goldfish.”

Hermione nodded sympathetically. “For someone with a mind like his, that would be true.”

“But he’s the most overprotective of them all, isn’t he?” Ron said.

“Only if someone he cares about is harmed. Otherwise, he’s the most rational of the lot,” Harry told him. He turned to Draco. “Look here, Malfoy – I don’t know why you’ve been so angry about the Holmes family taking me in, but whether you like it or not, I am a Holmes now, and I intend to remain so. If you really want to get away from Voldemort, I will do my best to help you. We’ve never been friends, but even I can see that you are clever, resourceful and talented, and it’d be a waste if you went to that evil snake-face.”

“I wanted to be your friend when we met at the shop and the train. You turned me down,” Draco said, his ears turning red.

Harry blinked. “Were you? But that was a lousy way to go about it, insulting everything within sight.”

“I didn’t know how else to talk, alright?” Draco yelled, his face flushed.

“Oh,” Harry said, taken aback. “In that case, I’m sorry.” He held out his hand. “Care to try again?”

Draco gaped at him for a moment, then shook his hand solemnly. “Don’t expect me to trust you immediately,” he warned.

Harry laughed. “Of course. I’m not that naïve. It takes time – but we can at least try, right?”

Draco nodded, his eyes serious. “As a token of appreciation, I will tell you something I overheard. There is a prophecy about the Dark Lord and you.”

“The one which talks about how I have the power to defeat him? Yeah, I know that one,” Harry said. “Thanks, though.”

“Do you have the power to kill the Dark Lord?” Crabbe asked bluntly.

Harry’s eyes glowed and everyone took a step back. “Yes,” he said simply, thinking of his Christmas night in Scotland. “I do now.” He smiled softly. “And it is a power Voldemort will never know or understand.”


	19. To by no means be cruel but to give mercy unto him who asks for mercy

 

Dumbledore led Harry’s guardians and protectors to his chamber, magically expanding it to be able to seat everyone. When everyone was seated, he turned to Mycroft with a stern look.

“Was that display essential?” he asked, his blue eyes cold.

Mycroft smirked. “Of course, Headmaster. Harry is the only child in our family, you know. We merely wish to pamper him a little.”

Dumbledore frowned. “I am sure Harry is aware of your affections. Why was a public demonstration staged?”

Steel crept into the British Government’s voice. “An added precaution to dissuade troublemakers. We stand with Harry, and we wish for the world to know. Those that would seek to cause him harm would think twice before acting. You would not wish for my nephew to be in unnecessary danger, would you, Headmaster? Especially since he has barely recovered from his trauma.”

Dumbledore pursed his lips and remained silent.

“I have no wish to undermine your authority, Albus,” Mycroft said firmly. “But I will not stand by and allow my nephew to be harmed while at school.”

Sirius and Severus nodded thoughtfully. “The Holmes and Vernet family names carry a lot of weight with the purebloods. They will definitely not want to get in Lord Holmes’ bad books,” the Potions Master observed.

“Even my old mum would have approved of this lot’s bloodline,” Sirius said. “I know you guys and Harry don’t think like that – but there are many that do.”

“And if we can use that to our advantage and ensure Harry’s safety, why shouldn’t we?” Emrys asked.

Dumbledore sighed. “What about Mr Potter’s appearance? Was it necessary to alter that?” he demanded.

“But he looks so much better now, doesn’t he?” Minerva said. “I don’t see a problem, Albus. The boy finally looks well-groomed and confident.”

“Harry is Lily’s son, too,” Remus said quietly. “We forgot because he hid behind his hair and glasses and we saw only James, not the hardships Harry was trying to hide.”

“The change has been gradual,” Severus said. “He does not avoid eye contact these days, and holds his head high when he walks. Removing the glasses and changing his hair just made it more prominent.”

“My godson is beautiful child, and he should dress up accordingly,” Sirius declared. “In a year or two, he will have the girls mooning over him.”

Sherlock huffed. “As if he needs that.”

John patted the detective’s arm. “It’s good for a young boy’s confidence, Sherlock.”

“Indeed,” Arthur agreed.

Dumbledore sighed. “He looks completely different. He does not look like Harry Potter anymore.”

Sherlock glared at the Headmaster. “He is not just Harry Potter anymore. He is Harry Potter Holmes.”

“There will be rumours of blood-adoption if he looks that different!” Dumbledore exclaimed.

“And how is that detrimental, Albus?” Mycroft drawled. “Is it not better for Harry to be considered a Holmes by blood?”

“It’s illegal,” Dumbledore snapped.

Sherlock shrugged nonchalantly.

“The youngest Peverell’s wife was a Vernet ancestor,” Emrys said. “And the Potters descended from him. That’s the problem with purebloods – everyone is related to everyone. Assuming the rumours are true, how would you even prove a blood-adoption when we already share blood?”

Dumbledore’s eyes flashed angrily. “Did you actually perform illegal blood-magic?” he demanded.

“Does it matter?” John challenged.

Mycroft smirked. “If it would put your mind at rest, Albus, I shall give you my word as Lord Holmes that we have not indulged in any illegal blood magic to make Harry ours.”

Dumbledore was visibly relieved. “Thank you, Mycroft.”

Mycroft nodded benevolently. “Regarding Harry’s Occlumency…”

Dumbledore waved a dismissive hand. “Severus will take care of it.”

“Very well,” Mycroft said. “Thank you, Professor Snape.”

“We have taught him the basics,” Sherlock told the Potions Master. “But he is not a duplicitous child by nature, so it is a little difficult for him. He is able to put up a basic shield and deflect the Legilimens to another memory instead of the one they seek, but he is unable to throw them out yet.”

Severus looked impressed. “That is excellent progress.”

Sherlock beamed proudly.

Mycroft’s phone buzzed. He frowned at the screen and excused himself.

“Yes, Harry?” he replied, accepting the call. “Is something wrong?”

Sherlock, who had glanced at the screen and followed his brother out, peered at him in concern.

Mycroft listened to the boy patiently and a proud smile broke out on his face. “Very well done indeed, nephew mine,” he complimented. “We are still at Hogwarts. We shall meet you before we depart.”

Sherlock raised an eyebrow and Mycroft smirked. “Your child has done us proud, Sherlock. You make a finer parent than I imagined.”

Sherlock flushed at the unexpected praise.

They returned to the room to openly curious looks.

“May we stay behind for a few hours to watch Harry’s Quidditch practice in the evening?” Mycroft enquired. “We also need to discuss Emrys and Arthur’s appointment at Hogwarts. You will need people to liaison with Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, would you not, Albus?”

Dumbledore looked dumbfounded.

“The requisite Ministry approval has been obtained,” Mycroft continued calmly. “I have informed Olympe and Igor as well. Emrys was quite a favourite of Olympe’s, and she is looking forward to seeing him again. Arthur is well-acquainted with Igor – his father was a great friend of Igor’s. I trust you will find these two very useful during the Tri-wizard Tournament.”

Dumbledore nodded silently, a small smile on his lined face. “Brilliantly outmaneuvered,” he muttered. “Well done, Mycroft.”

\---xxx---

Harry, Ron and Hermione met up with everyone outside the Great Hall as soon as their classes were over. Severus, Sirius and Remus joined them.

“Harry was brilliant!” Hermione gushed.

Cheeks tinged pink, Harry looked up at Sherlock, who smiled at him encouragingly.

“Do tell us,” the detective said.

“Hold on,” Sirius said. “We’d better head to the Room of Requirement.”

“What is that?” Emrys asked curiously.

Remus smiled at everyone. “The most interesting room in the school,” he said. “Dobby!” he called.

Dobby appeared with a crack and his tennis-ball eyes widened at the sight of Harry. He launched himself at Harry with a cry of “Harry Potter!”

Harry patted him awkwardly as the house-elf clung to him, sobbing and thanking him over and over, and rather loudly, at that. When he finally stopped bawling, Harry said mildly, “Hi, Dobby. How have you been?”

That invited another round of wailing about the greatness of Harry Potter.

Sherlock was the first to lose his patience. He put a hand on Harry’s shoulder and asked loudly, “Why don’t you introduce us to your friend, Harry?”

Dobby stared at Sherlock with the same wide-eyed adoration that he usually reserved only for Harry. “A friend!” he cried. “Harry Potter’s father thinks Dobby is Harry Potter’s friend? Dobby has never seen such greatness in wizards…ah, Dobby is so happy Harry Potter found a _decent_ family – what an honour it is for Dobby to be Harry Potter’s _friend_ …”

Harry shot Sherlock an apologetic look. “This is Dobby, Dad. He used to work for the Malfoy family earlier, and he was a big help when the Chamber of Secrets was opened.” Harry ducked his head. “A lot of things happened, and he was set free.” He turned to Dobby. “Are you working at Hogwarts now?”

Dobby nodded eagerly. “Dobby is a free elf, thanks to Harry Potter! Dobby is even getting _paid_ to work at Hogwarts!”

“Good for you,” Harry said.

Remus cleared his throat. “Dobby, could you take us all to the Room of Requirement?”

Dobby nodded eagerly and snapped his fingers. Instantly, they were transported to the corridor. Remus stepped forward and opened the door, ushering everyone in.

Inside was a luxurious tea room with comfortable couches and chairs for everyone. They took their seats.

“I had no idea there was such a tea room in the school,” John said to Arthur. “Did you?”

Arthur shook his head.

Emrys was exploring the room, fascinated, just as Sherlock examined a crime scene. His eyes sparkled and he mumbled to himself occasionally, touching here and there.

Sirius and Remus laughed. “This isn’t a tea room. It is a room that fulfills your requirements. You just have to think hard about what you want before you enter. It’ll disappear when we leave.”

“Interesting,” Mycroft said. “What are its limitations?”

“You can’t take anything out, but anything inside is real enough,” Remus told him, launching into Professor mode.

“I believe we were gathered here for a reason,” Severus interrupted crossly. “If not, there are several potions that need my immediate attention.”

“Apologies, Professor,” Mycroft said smoothly. “Baby brother, take a seat.”

Emrys pulled away reluctantly and took a seat next to Sherlock.

“I understand my nephew had a rather productive conversation with young Mr. Malfoy,” Mycroft drawled. “Miss Granger, if you could let us have the details? I believe Harry may be a little too modest to be completely accurate.”

Hermione giggled and complied.

Snape jumped up when she finished her narrative. “You heroic _moron_ ,” he snarled at Harry. “Do you realise _every single_ Death Eater will target you now, either to redact their Dark Marks or to assassinate you? Did you even _consider_ the possibility of magical exhaustion if you were to break so many Dark Marks?”

“I have to agree with Severus,” Remus said quietly. “One or two Dark Marks is a different matter, but if Harry is required to erase them _en masse_ for a large number of people, it would be risky.”

“It would also be easy for Death Eaters to sneak close to Harry under the pretext of wanting to defect,” Arthur said.

Emrys glared at Arthur. “That’s not what you would have said back in the day. Whatever happened to your Code of Chivalry? Weren’t you the one that used to say, ‘ _To by no means be cruel but to give mercy unto him who asks for mercy_ ’?”

Arthur shrugged. “I grew up.”

Harry looked utterly dejected until Sherlock put an arm around his shoulders.

“You did well, little one,” the detective told the boy.

“Indeed,” Mycroft agreed.

Emrys nodded. “Well done, Harry. Your instincts serve you well, and it was clever of you to redirect queries to Mycroft, and to stipulate the presence of either Sherlock or myself.”

Harry nodded shyly.

John sighed. “Will one of you stupid Holmes geniuses please explain it to the rest of us? Because Professor Snape’s concerns are perfectly valid.”

“They are, indeed,” Mycroft said calmly. “And your concern for my nephew is much appreciated, Professor Snape.”

“However,” Sherlock said. “Harry has caused a rift amidst the Death Eaters. Professor Snape’s absence has already been noted, and I am certain questions must have been raised as to why he remains unharmed and free. This is a good time to take advantage of that and establish Harry as a powerful sorcerer.” He stared at Snape. “How many do you estimate would approach us initially?”

Severus frowned. “Between thirty to fifty. More will come depending on the results.”

Emrys smiled. “If Harry breaks fifty Dark Marks at once in presence of witnesses, would that not cause a significant decline in Voldemort’s power?”

“Of course,” Snape said. “Unless he burns up his entire magical core trying to achieve that feat and is rendered a squib.”

Sherlock smirked. “That would not happen, Professor. In terms of raw magical power, Harry is not second to Voldemort. Besides, he can draw on _our_ magical power. Mine, the most – but of Emrys and Mycroft as well. And then there is Victoria, our trump card. Fifty people is nothing. A hundred, a thousand…we can do it. Without breaking a sweat.”

Everyone but his brothers stared at Sherlock in awe, Harry included.

“My brother is absolutely correct,” Mycroft confirmed. “Do you think we would stand by and let _anyone_ harm Harry?”

“Arthur and I will be here for a while in any case,” Emrys said. “And Harry is not the only one we need to protect. _You_ would be targeted as well, Professor.” He looked at Snape.

Severus waved away his concern. “The future of the Wizarding World does not hinge upon my survival.”

“But you are important to us,” Harry said in a small voice, refusing to look at him.

No one had seen Professor Snape look so shocked before.

“Leaving aside your value in terms of your intelligence and mastery, and your determination to protect Lily Potter’s son at the cost of your life – Harry is also quite _fond_ of you,” Sherlock declared. “I’d prefer it if you refrained from causing my son undue distress by dismissing your own life in such a cavalier fashion.”

“Well-said, Sherlock,” Mycroft said. He turned to Severus with a serious look in his eyes. “Harry is neither Voldemort nor Dumbledore, Professor Snape, nor does he wish to be your master. You are important to my nephew as your own person, and he simply cares for you. Which, of course, by extension, means that the Holmes family cares for you, too.”

Emrys chuckled. “What my long-winded brothers are trying to say is that we will protect you.”

Severus pursed his lips and nodded curtly, but the colour on his sallow cheeks gave him away. Victoria, who had taken off when Harry attended class, appeared in a flash of green and gold and settled on the Potions Master’s shoulder. She bit his ear and trilled.

“She says she likes you,” Harry informed him.

Severus smiled slightly.

John cleared his throat. “So, what are we supposed to do next? Wait for Death Eaters to come to Mycroft?”

“I will speak with Draco,” Snape said. “And I will update Albus and the other Heads. If all of us keep an eye out, we should be able to minimize the number of new recruits. At least the ones that would join out of fear would either choose to remain neutral or aid us.”

The Holmes brothers nodded, their movements identical.

Just then, Dobby appeared with a crack. “Master Malfoy is at Hogwarts and looking for Professor Snape,” he said with a shiver.

“Thank you, Dobby,” Severus said. “Is he in my office?”

Dobby nodded. He turned to Harry, clearly afraid. “Dobby can take Professor Snape to Master Malfoy,” he offered.

Before Severus could reply, Sherlock spoke up. “That’s very kind of you, Dobby. Would it be possible for you to take us as well? Mycroft, Emrys, Harry and myself?”

Dobby nodded.

Sherlock smiled kindly. “Do not worry, Dobby. Harry’s friends are under the protection of the house of Holmes. You are my son’s friend, are you not?”

Dobby nodded tearfully.

\---xxx---

A few minutes later, the Holmes brothers and Harry sat in Professor Snape’s magically expanded office, facing the Malfoys, the Crabbes, the Goyles, the Notts and the Parkinsons. Snape stood in the middle, Victoria perched on his shoulder. Dobby stood in front of Harry, who sat between Sherlock and Emrys.

“Is it true, Severus?” Narcissa Malfoy demanded. “Your Dark Mark has been broken?”

Severus rolled up his sleeve to expose his unblemished forearm.

The Death Eaters gasped.

“If the Holmes family took him in and returned to the Wizarding World for his sake, the Potter boy must indeed by exceptional,” Nott said, rubbing his chin.

His wife frowned. “Teddy says he’s a typical Gryffindor.”

“What does his house matter? If he can remove our Dark Marks…” Lucius interrupted.

The Parkinsons frowned. “Is it true that the Dark Lord is a half-blood?”

Severus raised an eyebrow. “Did you not know? His father was a muggle.”

The Malfoys nodded. Narcissa turned to stare at Harry. “Can you do it, child? Can you really break the Dark Mark? Does it not drain your magical core?”

The Holmes brothers replied with identical smirks on their faces.

“Is that a request to my nephew, Mrs. Malfoy?” Mycroft drawled, his cut-glass accent more pronounced than ever.

Narcissa nodded eagerly. “Please, if you can help us, Lord Holmes…”

“What will you do once Harry erases your marks of servitude? You are likely to be targeted by others,” Emrys said calmly.

“We will help you in any way we can,” Lucius said quickly. “You may have anything we own if you can keep Draco safe. We will serve you…”

Harry stood up and interrupted him. “I am not looking for servants, Mr. Malfoy. I am not Voldemort.”

“Please,” Narcissa began.

“Do all of you really want to get rid of it?” Harry asked, looking around.

Everyone nodded silently.

“All right,” Harry said, and turned to Sherlock. “Can I?”

Sherlock smiled at him. “Yes, of course.”

Emrys stood up and put a hand on Harry’s shoulder. “Bare your arms,” he told the Death Eaters.

Harry touched the mark on Narcissa’s arm. “ _Morsmordre_ ,” he said quietly.

Instantly, the snakes in all the Dark Marks began thrashing about.

“Sorry,” Harry said quickly. “It might hurt a bit.” Then he switched to Parseltongue, and commanded the snakes to leave. Sherlock added his own command in Parseltongue.

Ten snakes of grey smoke rose from the Death Eaters’ arms and hovered in mid-air. Victoria spread her wings and swooped down on them. The snakes disappeared and the skulls broke and faded.

“The mark will disappear for good in a few minutes,” Severus told them.

“Thank you!” Narcissa cried and pulled Harry into a hug, just like Molly Weasley and Hermione’s mum usually did. Harry flushed as all the five men shook hands with him and the women hugged him.

“Mr. Potter-Holmes,” Lucius Malfoy said, drawing himself up to his full height. “We shall not forget your mercy. Our offer of assistance stands. Any help we may be able to provide to you shall be yours with a word.”

“Thanks,” Harry muttered.

 


	20. A Fly on the Wall

 

Lord Voldemort felt a sudden drain on his magical powers as ten Dark Marks disappeared at Hogwarts. He did not know the cause yet, however.

“Wormtail!” he hissed. “Give me your arm.”

Peter Pettigrew stepped forward and knelt before him hastily, baring his human arm. Voldemort tapped the Dark Mark to summon his followers. It was a powerful summon to every member of his inner circle.

He looked at the Death Eaters that gathered immediately. Eleven of his most powerful servants were missing. He had already given up on Severus – it was a pity, really, for he was rather powerful and his potions had always been handy – but the boy had been too soft on Lily Potter, and it was not really surprising that he had taken to protect her son. Still, Voldemort had hoped that Dumbledore would build Harry Potter in the image of James Potter, so that Severus would hate him as much as he had hated his rival. That would have ensured that the Potions Master remain by his side. But now that Severus had betrayed him, he who had freed him from his dirty Muggle father and given him a purpose in life when the boy had been shunned at Hogwarts…the boy that was a fellow half-blood…he had to die. He would kill the man himself, Voldemort decided, for he had always had a soft corner for the Potions Master.

However, there was a more urgent issue at hand. The Malfoys, Crabbes, Goyles, Notts and Parkinsons were missing. How was this possible? All of them could not possibly have defected, could they? All his Death Eaters knew he could punish them through the Dark Mark. Severus had an unnatural pain threshold thanks to his abusive Muggle father, but these pampered purebloods did not know pain, and a half-hearted Cruciatus was usually enough to bring them in line.

He tapped Wormtail’s Dark Mark, seeking the ten missing Death Eaters with the intent to punish them. He found…nothing. There was nothing, no sign of them or their link. This could only mean two things – either they were dead, or their Dark Marks had been removed. A sudden fear gripped him. Dumbledore could not have killed them, could he? The senile old wizard certainly had the power, but he was also soft. He would not kill. Mycroft Holmes’ image suddenly floated into his mind. _That_ man most certainly could – in fact, he could easily order massacres without batting an eye. But Holmes was a rational creature, he thought. Would it benefit the man to murder ten influential purebloods? The alternative was even more frightening. Could it be possible that they had managed to remove the Dark Marks from his servants? Frantically, he sought out Severus’ presence, only to come up with nothing yet again. Was Severus dead, too? He shook his head. The last time he had seen Lucius, the slippery aristocrat had been bragging about his son’s achievements and had mentioned Severus, the boy’s Head of House. No, Severus was alive and well, it seemed – and it could only mean that someone had removed his Dark Mark. And if they had removed one, they could have removed more. Could it have been…Harry Potter? No…he was Harry Potter Holmes now, wasn’t he? Had they done a blood adoption to enhance the child’s magical prowess? It was the only possible explanation for an average boy doing such powerful magic…

Another thought entered his mind. The boy was a Parselmouth, Wormtail had told him. Was it possible he had unwittingly created a living horcrux when he had tried to kill off the Potters twelve years ago? Could Harry Potter’s powers have come from himself? If that be so, the boy would be able to control or erase the Dark Marks to a certain degree, just like himself. But that would also mean that the boy was connected to him, and just like he could access the boy’s mind sometimes, the boy could do so as well. Could he have learnt about the horcruxes, too? Did the boy have enough sense to remain silent or had he gone blabbing to Holmes and Dumbledore? For Voldemort did not doubt that both Holmes and Dumbledore would immediately realise what he had done…and the moment they did so, they would set out looking for the horcruxes and destroy them.

Lord Voldemort let out an angry bellow and shoved Wormtail away. “Go to Hogwarts,” he ordered the rat. “Find Severus and kill him. Bring me the corpse.”

Wormtail trembled, afraid. “My Lord, but I…”

“Silence!” Voldemort roared angrily. “Have I not given you a powerful magical arm? What is the use of giving you such a weapon if all you do is cower in fear at my feet?”

Wormtail nodded anxiously and Disapparated.

The Dark Lord turned to his other Death Eaters. “It appears several of your numbers are missing…” he said coldly.

No one dared say anything.

“Bring me Lucius,” he snarled at Avery.

Avery nodded nervously and Disapparated.

Lord Voldemort took a seat on his throne. Nagini slithered up to him and rested her huge head on his knee, as if begging to be petted. Voldemort almost smiled fondly and stroked her smooth scales with his skeletal fingers.

“ _Stay close to me, Nagini_ ,” he hissed softly. “ _You must not die_.”

“ _Yess, Master_ ,” she replied.

He closed his eyes and attempted to locate his horcruxes. To his dismay, he found none. Lucius had told him the diary was destroyed, but the others – the ring, the cup, the diadem, the locket…he could locate none. This could mean only one thing. Dumbledore knew what he had done, and he had teamed up with Holmes and systematically destroyed his soul-vessels. Desperately, he reached out to Harry Potter’s mind – at least they could not have destroyed the part of his soul that resided in the boy without killing the boy. He smiled as he connected with the boy’s mind.

Harry felt a niggling presence in his mind during Double Transfiguration and immediately threw up his Occlumency shields. Unfortunately for him, a powerful Legilimens like the Dark Lord could not be contained by his meagre shields, and Voldemort broke through them easily, laughing manically.

Harry was prepared for it, though. He knew his shields were weak, and Sherlock had taught him the distraction trick perfectly. As soon as Harry determined it was indeed Voldemort in his head, he pushed memories of the Dark Marks he had erased with such ease at the intruder, just as Mycroft had told him to do in case Voldemort tried to access his mind. Voldemort watched with growing disbelief as he watched Harry break ten Dark Marks at once. Next, Harry shoved his memories of destroying the horcruxes one by one at Voldemort. Panicking, the Dark Lord dug deeper into Harry’s psyche, hoping to at least find the piece of his soul. There was no sign of it, however. Angry and afraid, Voldemort attacked.

Immediately, the residual shields left by Sherlock, Mycroft and Emrys flared up and pushed him out. Harry collapsed on his desk, breathing heavily, and Sherlock’s bees appeared around him instantly. Ron and Hermione knelt around him, anxious, as Professor McGonagall stopped the class and made her way towards them.

“What happened?” she asked.

“Voldemort. Get Uncle Emrys,” Harry gasped, and passed out.

Professor McGonagall summoned her patronus, but the silvery cat was barely out of the door when Emrys burst into the classroom and picked up his unconscious nephew. “Don’t worry,” he said to Ron and Hermione. “He’s going to be perfectly all right with a little rest and will join you at lunch.” He pulled Minerva aside and spoke quietly to her for a moment before leaving with Harry cradled gently in his arms.

Far away from Hogwarts, Voldemort fell from his seat with a cry, suddenly afraid. How could a _child_ be so powerful? Were the rumours of blood-adoption true after all? One of his Death Eaters had suggested it, for the Holmes family, though extremely powerful, had always separated themselves from the Wizarding World and lived with the muggles. For them to return so suddenly, _en masse_ – along with two more rogue wizards who had abandoned the Wizarding World and were now companions to two of the Holmes brothers…it was suspicious, certainly. He recalled Mycroft Holmes’ protective stance when he had spoken of his nephew – unlike that insane muggle Jim Moriarty, Voldemort had immediately seen the true Mycroft Holmes. With a shudder, he recalled how easily the man had cast aside the Killing Curse.

He would need to expedite his plans to acquire the Deathly Hallows. Too bad the ring had already been destroyed by the boy…but even if it was no longer a horcrux, the stone of resurrection should still work fine. Where could Holmes have hidden it? First, though, he needed the Elder Wand. He had an idea where it could be, but he needed to confirm it. As for the Invisibility Cloak, from Wormtail’s ramblings, it was probably the one owned by James Potter and had apparently been in his family for generations. Demiguise fur certainly did not last that long – there could be other enchantments, but he would look into those later. Wormtail said Dumbledore had given to the boy for Christmas when he entered Hogwarts. It was probably still in the boy’s possession, for the sentimental fool would have presented it to the boy as a memento of his dead father. Lord Voldemort stood up, determined. He would be the Master of Death.

“Yaxley!” he called.

The man stepped forward. “Bring me Ollivander,” he said. “Alive.”

As soon as Yaxley Disapparated, he turned to his remaining servants. “Go to Azkaban,” he ordered. “Bring me all of my incarcerated followers!”

Greyback knelt before him. “My Lord, may we take reinforcements?”

Voldemort smiled and tapped the werewolf’s Dark Mark. Instantly, all active Death Eaters appeared.

“Take all the cavalry you need,” Voldemort said. “I want every single one of my captured Death Eaters to be free!”

He held out his hand and a wooden staff flew into his waiting palm. He waved his wand and it glowed. He threw it at the werewolf.

“Gather around,” he commanded. The Death Eaters did so, and vines grew out of the staff, branching out so that each Death Eater could touch one. “ _Portus_ ,” the Dark Lord said, and the Portkey activated, taking his followers to Azkaban.

At the Hogwarts infirmary, Harry woke up, drenched in sweat. He looked around wildly, and his eyes rested on Emrys sitting on a chair next to him.

“He’s sent almost all of them to Azkaban,” Harry said urgently. “He made a giant Portkey and…”

“Breathe, Harry,” Emrys said gently, rubbing his back.

“But…they’ll free the jailed Death Eaters…”

Emrys hushed him. His eyes glowed gold and Harry felt better immediately.

“Thanks, Uncle Emrys,” he said gratefully.

Emrys smiled. “Wait for a few minutes, would you? Sherlock and Mycroft should be here shortly, and you can explain it to all of us at once.”

Harry stared at him. “They are coming here? Why?”

Emrys smirked. “You know them. They _worry_.”

That brought a shy smile to Harry’s face. It was nice, he thought, having proper guardians who cared for him. The Holmes family might be unusual, but they were certainly better than he could ever have expected. He had never imagined having a proper father – let alone indulgent uncles and doting grandparents. He used to dream of a proper family when he was a child…but by the time he was eight, he had grown out of it and had come to accept that no one would take him away from the Dursleys or love him.

His morose thoughts were broken when the infirmary doors were thrown open and Sherlock strode in, his trademark coat flying behind him. Mycroft entered at a more leisurely pace, followed by John and Arthur.

“What happened?” Sherlock demanded.

Harry told them everything he had seen, and how he had utilized his Occlumency lessons.

Sherlock ruffled his hair affectionately. “Well done,” he said. “I’d prefer it if you could put up full barriers, but how you deflected Voldemort was very clever.”

Harry blushed. “Uncle Mycroft said I should do that if he got into my head, to show him those memories.”

Mycroft beamed at the child, clearly proud. “Very well done, indeed, nephew mine.”

“I almost feel sorry for the Dark Lord,” John said, smiling slightly. “That must have given him quite a fright.”

“But what do we do about Azkaban?” Arthur asked. “Shouldn’t we stop the attack?”

“I informed Dumbledore when Harry woke up and told me, so let that old coot take care of it,” Emrys said. “We don’t need to get involved with _everything_ directly, do we?”

“True,” Mycroft said, rubbing his chin.

“And some people need to stay back at Hogwarts,” John said. “Didn’t Harry say that Pettigrew was sent here to get Severus?”

Harry looked up anxiously. “We need to warn Professor Snape.”

“Don’t worry,” Emrys told him. “Victoria is with him. Besides, do you really think a man of his calibre would be defeated by a _rat_?”

Harry shook his head. “What about Mr. Malfoy?” he asked instead.

“I believe they are traveling at the moment,” Mycroft said. “In any case, they have been given an emergency Portkey to a secure location.”

“Nagini is still alive,” Harry said. “She is the last horcrux, isn’t she? Do we have to kill her?”

“Are you feeling sorry for the snake, Harry?” Emrys asked.

“She’s the same as me, isn’t she?”

Emrys ruffled his hair. “No one is the same as you, Harry. You are a unique, delightful child, and that’s why we love you.” He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “I get your point, though. If we can return her to an ordinary snake-state, we will try for that.”

“It may be kinder to kill her, though, if you kill her master,” John said.

The infirmary doors swung open again, and Severus stormed in. “What happened to Potter?” he demanded. “Minerva told me he collapsed.” He thrust a caged rat at Mycroft. “I found this lurking around.” His eyed turned to Harry and narrowed. “You look a bit peaky. Did the Dark Lord attack your mind?”

Harry nodded slowly and grinned at him. “The Occlumency lessons paid off, Professor. I deflected him.”

Severus rewarded him with a small smile. He turned to Mycroft and raised an eyebrow.

“I am certain the Ministry will be pleased to take this wanted criminal off your hands, Professor,” he said with a smirk. “I believe there is quite a reward set aside.”

Severus blinked. “Do you have any idea where the Headmaster has disappeared with Black and Lupin?”

“Azkaban, I believe,” Mycroft replied. “It is under attack.”

Severus sighed. “I should go and help.”

“No,” Sherlock told him firmly, much to everyone’s surprise. “You must stay here and protect the school. I am certain when Avery is unable to locate the Malfoys, he will attempt to break into the school to get the son.”

Severus’ eyes widened in shock. “All right. One of you need to explain to me exactly what happened.”

“I’ll do that while we walk back to your next class,” Arthur volunteered. “I’ll keep an eye out for the boy.”

“Thanks,” Harry said. “I don’t want Draco to be hurt. Or the others…”

“We will take care of it, kid,” Arthur said firmly. He turned to Snape. “They’re all in the same class, right?”

Sherlock’s predictions were accurate. Avery could not find Lucius, so he attempted to kidnap Draco – he was too terrified to return to his master empty-handed. He found Severus and Arthur waiting for him instead.

“You traitor!” he hissed at Severus. “You betrayed us!”

Severus bared his forearm. “I no longer serve the Dark Lord, and neither does Lucius,” he declared. “Harry Potter Holmes – a mere _child_ – has broken the Dark Mark as easily as plucking a flower. There is no merit to aligning myself with a half-blood hypocrite spouting erroneous delusions of blood-purity.”

“How dare you?” Avery snarled, raising his wand.

Severus and Arthur were much too fast for him. In less than a minute, he was magically restrained, caged and delivered to Mycroft.

“Could you spare a house-elf to deliver these vermin to the Ministry?” Mycroft asked Severus. “I would rather not waste precious time with my nephew on such trivial matters.”

“Yes, of course,” Severus said immediately. “Dobby!”

Dobby appeared with a loud crack.

Wormtail, who was back in his human form, stared at Harry. “The rumous of blood adoption were true, after all. You look nothing like you used to.”

Harry shrugged nonchalantly and the three Holmes smirked.

“You is a bad rat,” Dobby said, wagging his finger at Wormtail.

Mycroft knelt and spoke to the house-elf quietly for a while, with Dobby nodding eagerly, eyes sparkling. When he stood up, Dobby grabbed the cages and disappeared with a crack.

“What is blood adoption?” Harry asked curiously.

“Illegal blood magic,” Snape said.

“We haven’t performed any illegal blood magic,” Emrys said quickly. “Don’t worry, Harry.”

“But Uncle Mycroft said once that I am included in his “blood” relatives,” Harry said, frowning.

Sherlock chuckled. “Very clever, Harry.”

Mycroft and Emrys laughed softly. “What we did is not illegal,” Emrys said. “Rest assured.”

“But you did blood magic?” Harry asked. “I actually have Holmes blood?”

“We share blood through ancestors anyway,” Emrys explained. “We just tagged it with Sherlock’s _force majeure magica_ and added a little blood to magnify it. It is not illegal – it is simply impossible for most people, so no one has ever thought of it.”

“We just wanted to ensure there wasn’t even the slightest chance of you being taken away from us on any technical grounds,” Sherlock said quietly. “There are no side effects except that you are able to access our magic a little more easily than normal families – but that is also because of the _force majeure magica_.”

Tears dripped down Harry’s cheeks. Alarmed, Sherlock grabbed his hand.

“What’s wrong?” he asked anxiously.

Harry shook his head. “Thank you,” he said softly.


	21. Who Let the Dogs Out?

 

The Death Eaters were not faring too well, sandwiched between the Dementors on one side and the Order of the Phoenix on the other. Confusion reigned amidst them, for they had expected the Dementors to side with them.

The Dementors, however, were too terrified of Emrys to move from their posts. They would only move enough to avoid the patronuses being flung at them, and return immediately.

“This isn’t working,” one of the smarter Death Eaters called. “We have to concentrate our attack at one point and get in.”

Two dozen Death Eaters gathered together where they approximated Bellatrix Lestrange’s cell to be, and directed all their patronuses at the three Dementors guarding it. The Dementors were forced to scatter, and three of the Death Eaters flew in quickly and handed Bellatrix her wand. Giggling manically, she stepped out, brandishing her wand.

Watching their successful efforts, other Death Eaters started doing the same. The Order caught on quickly, though, and only a few more imprisoned Death Eaters could be liberated.

“Where the hell are your mutts, Greyback?” a Death Eater murmured.

Fenrir Greyback howled at the half-moon, standing at the highest point on Azkaban island. A swarm of werewolves responded to him instantly in the distance, but none dared to come closer for fear of Dementors. Greyback howled louder, encouraging his pack, promising blood to their heart’s content.

Remus grabbed Sirius’ sleeve. “It’s Greyback,” he whispered. “He’s calling for his pack. We have to stop it, Padfoot. We _must_. We won’t be able to stand up to a full-scale werewolf attack if the Dementors leave.”

Sirius nodded. “Tell Dumbledore. You and I will head out to the werewolves as soon as someone takes our position here.”

Remus did so.

Dumbledore nodded, but Tonks, who was next to him, shook her head violently. “No way!” she yelled. “It’s a suicide mission! The two of you, against what – fifty werewolves?!”

Remus’ face hardened. “We don’t really have a choice.”

“There is always a choice,” came a booming voice, and Rufus Scrimgeour, the Head of Auror Department, appeared with a full contingent of Aurors behind him.

“We got Lord Holmes’ message,” he told Dumbledore. “We will take care of Azkaban. Take your people and deal with the werewolves, Dumbledore.” He looked at Tonks. “Nymphadora! Accompany them! Take Alastor with you.”

Dumbledore stared at him. “Rufus – are you certain?”

“Yes,” the leonine wizard said with an imperial nod.

Albus smiled. “You have my gratitude, Rufus,” he said and gathered the members of the Order. With a quick explanation, they set off to confront the werewolves, leaving Azakaban to the Aurors.

xxx

“Harry! Wake up!” Ron shook his friend awake, staring at the newspaper in his hands. “Death Eaters attacked Azkaban!”

Harry rubbed his eyes sleepily and sat up. “I know,” he muttered groggily, reaching out for his glasses before realizing he did not need them anymore.

“The Aurors held them off!” Ron said excitedly. “Only two prisoners managed to escape – Bellatrix Lestrange and Bartemius Crouch Junior. The Aurors caught many more from the attacking party instead!”

Harry nodded.

Neville, on the other hand, was pale and shaking.

“Are you all right, Neville?” Ron asked.

“Bellatrix Lestrange,” Neville whispered. “She…she escaped?”

Ron nodded, perplexed. “Something wrong?” he asked.

“She is the reason I don’t have my parents with me,” Neville said quietly. He looked up at Harry and Ron, his face pale but determined. “If there is anything…anything at all…that I can do to help you defeat the Death Eaters…I know I am not good with magic, but…”

Harry, fully awake now, leapt out of bed and gave Neville a hug. An Emrys-hug, Harry called it in his mind, for the youngest Holmes brother was the most affectionate of the lot and it was from him Harry had learnt how comforting it could be.

“Thank you,” he said to Neville. “I am very grateful for your help, Neville.”

Neville’s voice was thick with tears as he replied, “I am pretty useless at things, but I will try my best…”

“Nonsense,” Harry said firmly, looking him in the eye. “I know how good you are at Herbology, and Dad – Sherlock – is always going on about how I need to learn more of that.”

“Yeah,” Ron agreed, walking up to them. “Hermione says you’re as good as her in Herbology! That’s seriously impressive, Nev.”

Neville flushed at the praise from the two boys, his misery forgotten.

“Thank you for telling us about your parents,” Harry said quietly. “I know how difficult that can be.”

Neville nodded and turned his attention to the newspaper in Ron’s hands. “Oh,” he said. “There was trouble with werewolves as well.”

Harry and Ron exchanged a look and Ron immediately turned his attention to the article. He plopped down on the floor in front of Harry and Neville so that all three boys could read the paper together.

It was a small paragraph about how the werewolves were on their way to attack Azkaban but were waylaid by a small group led by Dumbledore. It also mentioned that while the werewolves were thoroughly defeated and driven away, some of Dumbledore’s party were injured.

Harry jumped up, worry creasing his brow. Had Sirius or Remus been injured? He dressed quickly and rushed out towards the infirmary.

Harry bumped into Emrys just outside the infirmary. Emrys peered at his face, concerned. “What’s wrong, Harry?”

“Sirius, Remus – were they injured?” Harry asked breathlessly.

“Minor injuries – they’ll be fine. Did you want to visit them? They’ve returned to their office already, I’m afraid. You will see them in class – you have Defense second period, right?”

“Yes,” Harry said, nodding with relief. Then he frowned at Emrys. “Who were you visiting?”

Emrys smiled slightly. “Arthur and Severus got into a small fight with the Death Eater who came for Draco Malfoy.”

Harry paled. “Draco was attacked? Is he all right? What about Arthur and Professor Snape?”

The boy in question walked out of the infirmary that very moment. “I am perfectly fine, Holmes, as are the other two,” he declared, his cheeks tinged pink. “I do not need you to worry about me.”

“Thank heavens,” Harry said, not bothering to hide his relief. “I’m glad you are safe, Malfoy.”

“Thanks,” Draco muttered, clearly embarrassed. “I just hope my crazy aunt doesn’t come after me now.”

Harry stared at him, confused.

Draco sighed. “Bellatrix Lestrange, Potter – ah, Holmes. She is my mother’s sister, and probably the craziest and most powerful Death Eater out there. I heard she was one of the two that escaped from Azkaban.”

“We will try our best to keep you safe,” Harry promised.

“Indeed,” Emrys agreed with his nephew. “If you hear from her – or from another…or receive any threats, please do let us know, Draco.”

“Yes, sir,” Draco said to Emrys. “Thank you.”

“You and my nephew could be great friends, you know,” Emrys told the young Slytherin, winking at Harry. “You are very similar – clever, resourceful and a bit reckless.”

“Lay off, Uncle Emrys,” Harry said firmly. “Don’t embarrass Draco. We get along now, and I am sure we will naturally end up being friends soon enough.”

Emrys laughed and ruffled Harry’s hair. “Look at you, leaping to your new friend’s defence. Run along now – I don’t want you to be late for class.” He gave Harry a little push, turned around and went to the infirmary.

“Sorry about that,” Harry said to Draco, a little embarrassed.

Draco giggled in response. “Come along, Potter – oh, Holmes, sorry.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “You can just call me Harry, you know. It’ll be easier.”

Draco smiled slightly. “Well, come along, then, Harry. We have the same class to attend.”

“Won’t you have breakfast?” Harry asked, frowning. He glanced at his watch. “We have time.”

Draco stared at him. “You want to enter the Great Hall with me? Do you have any idea how many rumours that will cause?”

Harry smirked. “All the better for us, isn’t it?”

A corner of Draco’s mouth lifted. “You are quite devious for a good little Gryffindor. You’d have done well in Slytherin.”

“I know,” Harry said calmly. “The Sorting Hat told me – but I’d only just learnt about Hogwarts and its Houses, and that my parents had been murdered by an evil wizard called Voldemort who was a Slytherin. I begged my way out.”

“Oh,” Draco said, taken aback. He rubbed his chin. “That makes sense, I suppose. I didn’t help, I suppose, with all my high-and-mightiness.”

Harry laughed. “Don’t kill me – but you reminded me a bit of my spoilt muggle cousin – his parents adore him and give him everything he asks for, and he’s always been mean to me.”

Draco flushed. “I am sorry,” he said quietly. “I didn’t know any better.”

Harry smiled slightly. “Don’t worry about it. We’ve gotten over all that now, haven’t we? Besides, at least you never tried to kill me.”

Draco stared at him. “You really are something else, Potter. After being treated like that by muggles…how can you still wish to protect them?”

Harry shook his head. “I know plenty of decent muggles. There are good muggles and bad muggles, just as there are good wizards and bad wizards. Just because a few muggles treated me badly does not mean I should hate all of them, right? That’d make me just like Voldemort…and that would definitely be not good.”

“You are just a big softie,” Draco said. “But I am grateful. You have saved my family and my friends.”

Harry shrugged. “You are not the only one benefitting from our alliance, Draco.”

Draco grinned.

They chatted amiably until they reached the Great Hall. Whispers broke out as soon as they entered together, still chatting. Harry walked to the Slytherin table with Draco, and exchanged a few words with the other Slytherins as well – the ones whose parents’ Dark Marks he’d erased. He waved a cheery goodbye to Draco and made his way to the Gryffindor table.

“What was that all about?” Seamus asked as soon as Harry took a seat between Ron and Hermione.

Harry raised an eyebrow. Mycroft would have been proud.

“Why are you associating with Death Eaters now, Harry?” Seamus demanded.

“They are not Death Eaters,” Hermione said. “Draco is helping us.”

“And Harry can break Dark Marks anyway,” Ron said proudly.

Hermione sighed. “Why don’t you announce it to the entire wizarding world, Ron?”

“It’s all right, Hermione,” Harry intervened, not wanting to see his friends fight. “Most people already know anyway.” He looked straight at Seamus. “It is true, though. Draco and the other Slytherins I was just talking to – they are on our side, not Voldemort’s.”

“That is amazing, Harry,” Neville said, awed. “How did you…?”

Hermione narrated a heavily edited version of the truth, and Harry received many adoring stares and congratulatory claps on the back.

“You’re quite something, mate,” Seamus said, clapping him on the back. “You-Know-Who’s done for, I guess.”

Hermione glanced at her watch and let out a cry. “Come on,” she said, jumping out of her seat and grabbing Harry and Ron. “We’ll be late for Defence!”

As the trio dashed off, Seamus glanced at the other Third years. “We still have fifteen minutes, right?” he asked.

“Hermione probably wants to ask the Professors something before class,” Neville replied, shrugging. He was probably the only one besides Hermione who had noticed Harry looking increasingly uncomfortable. Besides, Sirius Black was Harry’s godfather, and it was natural for him to be concerned about their welfare after last night’s events.

“Thanks, Hermione,” Harry said softly as they reached the classroom.

She smiled in reply and knocked on the door.

“Come in,” Remus’ gentle voice called from inside.

Harry, Ron and Hermione entered quietly and looked up at Sirius and Remus. Both looked worn out and had a few bandages.

“Are you guys all right?” Ron asked. “We went to the infirmary but Emrys said you had already left. Harry was worried.”

Sirius ruffled Harry’s hair affectionately. “Don’t worry, pup. Your old dogs are fine.”

“You have bandages,” Harry pointed out shakily. “I didn’t know wizards needed those.”

Sirius chuckled. “Magic bandages, Harry. We will be right as rain by tomorrow.” He smirked. “You should have seen the werewolves once we were done with them. Remus is the undisputed Alpha now, so the werewolf problem is sorted out for the foreseeable future.” He glanced at Remus. “Moony was magnificent last night,” he declared proudly.

Remus flushed and said mildly, “Back at you, Padfoot.”

Harry heaved a sigh of relief. Sirius and Remus were safe, and Remus controlled the werewolves now. They could not have asked for a better outcome.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I read somewhere that Death Eaters can’t produce patronuses (except Snape) – I am not too sure of it; I mean, if Umbridge could…besides, if we consider the Malfoys – they quite love their family, isn’t it? Difficult to believe they won’t have happy memories. Anyhow, it suits my purposes to have Death Eaters throw out patronuses, so here we are.
> 
> Also, this is the last chapter I have updated till now on FF. Once I write #22, I will upload it both on FF and AO3.


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